Love and Lifetimes
by April Rane
Summary: Sequal to Unfaithful. Erik and Christine now face trials as gaps form within the bonds of their tightknit family and their children grow up in addition to everyday life. Rating for SC and a bit of L. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_a/n Here it is—the sequel! I'm going to try to have this not revolve around original characters too much to stop confusion, but there will be a lot of Gustave and Isabella. Just to clear up confusion from last time, Erik and Chrstine now have five kids. Gustave is the oldest, then Tristan, Mathieu, Angelique, and Eve (not pronounced like Adam and Eve, but with a soft "e"). For the most part, this story takes place in __Vienna__. Um… I can't think of anything else._

_And a quick aside to a couple of people who were wondering (I can't remember who all wanted to know), French letters are condoms. Just don't ask me why they're called that. Also, speaking of condoms, this chapter gets kindaraunchy at the end. If you don't want to read that part, stop reading after Erik tells Angelique goodnight. I'll try to warn you about that stuff from now on._

**CHAPTER 1—LADIES OF THE STAGE**

Perhaps it was cruel to work the girl so hard, Erik thought, but she seemed to want nothing more than to sing until her exhaustion forced her to sleep. It amazed him, really, that he was finding a great deal of fatherly affection for the daughter of his once arch rival. What was even more ironic was the relationship blooming between the young diva and Gustave.

It seemed to content Gustave to spend a great deal of time at his father's side, walking about the opera house and checking to make sure that everything was in order before heading up to rehearsal. Although the theater was between shows, a number of the cast had asked permission to put on a small production of Handel's oratorio, _Semele_. As Erik and Gustave entered the theater, Isabella de Chagny's clear voice was ringing through the room as she sang "Where'er you walk." Her voice reminded him of Christine's. She lacked the fullness that Christine had achieved, but he knew that it would come with time, practice and age. Her voice was beautiful, however. It was clear and controlled, and had beautiful tone. As she worked her way through the song with the accompanist, she reached the run toward the end of the first section. Her voice faltered to a stop and she gave a sheepish smile as Erik approached with his son.

"Sounded good so far," Gustave said, smiling at her.

Isabella shook her head. "It sounded horrible."

Erik laughed at this, jumping up onto the stage beside her. He reached down for a music stand from the orchestra pit and placed it in front of her to rest her music on. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her waist. "Stand up straight." She instantly straightened, glancing down at her music. Erik reached a hand up to lift her chin. "Don't look," he said. "You know this song."

"I can't get that run, though."

"You _know_ the run, Bella," he said. "The problem is that you're thinking too hard. Don't think about it. Just let it come to you."

Although he couldn't see her face, he knew she had to be rolling her eyes. Gustave stifled a laugh and sat down in the first row. "Mind an audience?"

Isabella shook her head. "As long as you don't mind my mistakes."

Erik tightened his hands around her waist, tickling her. "You won't make any mistakes." He nodded to the pianist. "Proceed."

After the short piano entrance, Isabella began to sing. Erik did not miss Gustave's entranced expression, nor the tensing of Isabella's body as she progressed through the song. "Relax," he said softly. "You can't sing if you're tense."

He felt her forcibly relax her shoulders. As she approached her run, he put his hands on her again tensing shoulders so that they could not tighten. She began to look down at her music, but he quickly snatched it from in front of her. As she scowled at him, she went right through the run perfectly, not even realizing it. Then her eyes widened and she stopped singing to squeal with delight. "I did it!"

Laughing again, Erik released his hands from her shoulders. "I told you you could. You weren't thinking about it. You were too busy being annoyed with me."

She scowled again at his smirk and he patted her head. "Keep practicing, child." He looked down at his son. "I assume you would prefer to stay here?"

Gustave shook his head. "I'd love to," he said, smiling at Isabella, "but Jean said he needed my help backstage. Something about a ripped piece of backdrop."

Erik nodded. "He mentioned it to me last night," he said. "He also said that you've not been working like you should. I didn't let you leave school early so you could waste time…" He trailed off a bit awkwardly, knowing very well what his son had been up to. He cleared his throat and said, "Fraternizing."

In seventeen years, Erik had never seen his son turn such a shade of red. Feeling that his duty as a father was momentarily fulfilled in the embarrassment of his oldest child, Erik headed out the door to look for his wife. After fifteen minutes of searching, he found her in the ballet dormitory, tending to the ankle of a young ballerina that Erik recognized as the immigrant girl from Russia. "What happened here?" he asked.

Christine looked up. "Hello, darling," she said, smiling as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Nothing serious. Zoya's only twisted her ankle. It should be fine in a few days."

Looking over the girl, Erik noticed a small bruise on Zoya's right arm. It almost looked as if someone had grabbed her. Erik knew little of the girl and he looked at Christine. "Does she speak German?" he asked.

Christene shook her head. "Hardley. She speaks Russian and Dutch."

Erik heaved a sigh. He knew she would understand Russian better, but his Dutch was better—he had spent the better part of two months in Holland with Christine on a vacation several months ago. He looked down at her.

"Hoe kwetste u zich, kind?" he asked in Dutch.

The girl's blue eyes widened. "Ik ben zeer onhandig, de heer. Ik val vaak."

A frown creased Erik's brow. If he had understood correctly, she had said that she was merely clumsy. He knew this was untrue—he had never seen a girl of her age move across the stage with such grace. "Niemand duwde u?"

Her bottom lip trembled. "Nr, de Heer Dussek. Ik zweer het."

Christine was frowning now. "What is it? Why is she crying?"

"I don't think this was an accident," he said softly. "I asked if she was pushed. She insists she was not, but…" He trailed off, looking back at Zoya. "U te hoeven niet me, Zoya vrezen. Als iemand u berokkende, zouden zij moeten worden gestraft."

Zoya burst into tears. Christine enveloped the girl into her arms. "What happened?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he said. "Zoya, wat gebeurde?"

"Dat mens, Heinrike—hij is gedronken, de heer. Hij trok me naar hem en probeerde…" She shuddered and broke off, sobbing into Christine's skirt.

Christine had caught the name of one of the stagehands and was instantly suspicios. "What about Heinrike?" she asked.

"She says that he pulled her to him when he was drunk." He looked back at Zoya, fearing the answer to the next question. "Raakte hij u tegen uw wil?"

The girl gasped for breath and nodded. "Ik liep van hem, maar in mijn haast, verdraaide ik mijn enkel. Ik vrees hij me zou verkracht hebben als Christine niet was meegekomen." She broke down entirely.

Wide-eyed, Christine reached a hand toward Erik. "He didn't rape her, did he?"

"No," Erik said softly. "But he tried." He glared back at the theater. "It was Gustave's job to watch that man," he growled. "I've been afraid he would try something like this to one of the girls. No doubt he was occupied with Isabella."

"Erik, don't blame Gustave for this," Christine said desperately, but Erik was already back on his feet and storming toward the theater.

"Uncle Erik!"

Erik turned to see his nephew hurrying toward him with a roll of canvas under one arm and a can of paint in the other hand. "What is it, Jean?"

"Have you seen Gustave?" Jean asked. "He said he was going to help me fix that rip, but I haven't seen him in at least an hour."

"Did you look in the theater?"

"Yes," he said. "He wasn't there."

Erik scowled. "No doubt he can be found in Isabella's dressing room."

Jean nodded. "I was just on my way there to check."

Forcing a smile onto his face, Erik said, "I shall look for you. Where can I send him?"

"Tell him to meet me in the workshop," Jean said. "They moved the whole backdrop in there, but it's still hanging up and I can't work on it by myself."

Erik nodded and turned toward Isabella's dressing room. He knocked once, but did not wait for a response before he burst in.

Isabella had been reclined on the couch with her head in Gustave's lap, but she sat up as soon as she saw Erik. Blushing, she patted her hair and said, "Good afternoon, Count—"

"Isabella," Erik said between clenched teeth. "You will please excuse my son and I." It was not a request.

Looking nervously from Gustave to Erik, Isabella nodded, standing up and exiting the room. Erik waited until the door had shut before he rounded on his son. "You said you wanted to pursue a career in the theater," he said in a softly dangerous voice. "If I pulled you from school before you were finished, you said, you would promise to work hard. Not be late. _Do as you were told_."

Gustave was on his feet now. He looked both confused and annoyed. "And I do," he said indignantly. "I come to work every day. I—"

"A girl was nearly raped," Erik rumbled. "Do you know why, Gustave?"

Eyes widening in horror, Gustave shook his head.

If Erik had been angry before, it was nothing to what he was now. "Because you were not doing what I told you to do! I asked you to keep an eye on Heinrike to make sure he did not make unwanted advances on anyone, and the only thing that kept a girl from that fate was your mother!"

Gustave did not move. He was shaking, but it was hard to tell if it was from shock or anger. Judging by the red hue his face was taking on, Erik judged it to be from the latter. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Stalk him?"

"At least spend some of your time shadowing him," Erik roared. "You speak as if there was nothing you could have done to stop him when it was your job to watch him in the first place! Instead, you were 'busy' with Isabella!"

"I'm sorry," Gustave said quietly.

Erik said no more, but turned and left the room. He barely noticed Isabella standing outside the door with tears running down her cheeks. "Go practice," he muttered, waving a hand toward her. He heard her burst into sobs, then the door to the dressing room slammed and her crying was muffled.

* * *

Gustave did not eat dinner with them that night. Christine had tried to speak with him after Erik left, but the boy had been unwilling to listen to her, which had prompted more yelling from Erik as he told his son to respect his mother. Gustave had not said anything to this, but had stormed from the living room, slamming the door and causing baby Eve to burst into tears. Mathieu and Tristan had said nothing, but immediately returned to their game of Chinese checkers. Tears had come to Angelique's eyes, and she had attached herself to Tristan's leg. After a while, Tristan had also become agitated and told Angelique to let go of him, which had caused _her_ to burst into tears and scamper toward their mother. Christine had then reprimanded Tristan and sent him to his room until dinner. Now opponentless, Mathieu had retreated to the music room to practice piano while Christine attempted to calm her wailing daughters and Erik stewed in his chair.

So it was that dinner that evening was missing Gustave while Tristan poked unenthusiastically at his food and Angelique sniffled. Christine periodically got up from the table to check on Eve and Erik glared down at his steak, cutting it with more roughness than was necessary. Christine seemed to have noticed this, but knew her husband well enough to know better than to annoy him further when was in bad temper. The third time she returned from quieting Eve, Erik glared over at her and gestured to his older daughter.

"Can't you make her stop crying?" he barked.

Christine gave her husband a stunned look. Erik seldom acted like this in regard to Angelique, normally trying to quiet her and cheer her up with magic tricks and music. "No, I can't," she said quietly as the sniffles increased in intensity. "I can't help it if you're scaring her."

"Stop crying, Angelique," Tristan said angrily. "Can't you see you're annoying Papa?"

Angelique disintegrated into sobs again and ran from the table.

"Tristan Alexander!" Christine said. "Go apologize to your sister this instant!"

"Why should I apologize?" he asked huffily. "It's Papa who's upset her." For a moment, no one moved. Christine 's fork had stopped midway to her mouth, and Mathieu's eyes had widened. Just as Erik's face turned an angry shade of red and he opened his mouth to let loose on his son, Tristan jumped slightly and glared over at Mathieu. "That hurt," he hissed.

"Serves you right," said Mathieu.

"That doesn't mean you had to kick me," Tristan said angrily. He threw a piece of broccoli at his brother.

There was a thud as Christine slammed her hands on the table in fury. "That's it!"

Everyone remaining at the table turned to look at her. Erik had never seen her look so angry before. "You—" She pointed at Tristan. "You will apologize to your father _right now_, young man!" Her face booked no refusal.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Tristan said quietly.

"Now go tell your sister how sorry you are that you upset her, and then go to your room."

Tristan scampered from the table and Mathieu slumped down in his chair, quelling beneath his mothers angry gaze. "You shouldn't have kicked your brother, Mathieu," she said, but her voice had lost some of its rage. "Finish your dinner then go apologize."

After Mathieu had finished his potatoes and departed, Christine rounded on her husband, anger back in full force. Erik's first reaction was to follow Mathieu's lead and slump down in his chair in fear. "I don't know what's gotten into you tonight!" she cried. "You_ never_ act like this toward the children! It's not their fault that you're in a bad temper because you can't accept that hormonal teenagers make mistakes! I don't recall you being perfect!" She sat down irately and returned to her dinner.

After several minutes she was still silent, and Erik began to sweat. Somehow, her bittersilence was worse than her rage. He gingerly reached a hand out to take hers. "I'm sorry, my love," he murmured, kissing her fingers. "I'll apologize to the children. All of them," he added when she looked up at him.

Heaving a sigh, Christine stood up again. "I don't know if Gustave will listen to you," she said. "But you can try."

Erik stood up and squeezed her hand before he let go. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said, giving him a small smile. "I'm going to bed. Will you be up soon?"

"As soon as I finish with the children." He left, feeling her eyes follow him out the door. He stopped at Mathieu's room first, knowing it would be easiest to speak to his youngest son first. Mathieu was already in bed when Erik entered, his arm hanging off the edge of the bed and his mouth hanging open.Erik gently tucked the blankets around his son, whispering an apology and chuckling when his son groggily told him not to worry about it. Next, Erik headed into Tristan's room. Tristan was sitting by the window, staring out at the small stream that ran across the back of the grounds. He accepted his father's apology, telling Erik that he was sorry that he had thrown broccoli at Mathieu and made his sister cry.

Predictably, Gustave did not answer the door, even after Erik called an apology through the door. He merely called out, "I bet you're only saying that because mother told you to."

Entering Angelique's room, Erik's heart nearly broke as he saw the little girl curled in a shaking ball on the bed, still dressed. He rested a hand on her back and she rolled over to look at him. She immediately tried to hide her tears, but Erik lifted her into his lap, cradling her to his chest the way he had done when she was a baby.

"I'm sorry, _bel ange_," he gently, rocking her back and forth. "I did not mean to upset you further. You know I adore you." He kissed her tear stained cheek and tickled her side slightly.

Through her tears, Angelique gave a small giggle at this. "Is it my pretty eyes?" she asked, looking up from her father's chest.

"Your pretty eyes," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "Your pretty face. Your pretty smile."

"Am I reallypretty, Papa?"

"Everyone says so. Iwalk about the opera house after productions and people will ask me, 'Erik, who is the beautiful child running about dressed like a princess?' And I tell them, 'That is my precious Angelique.'" Erik stood up, carrying her to the dresser. Setting her down, he took a nightgown from the dresser as she pulled her dress off. "Arms up." He pulled the nightgown onto his daughter, and then took her hand to take her back to her bed. She climbed beneath the covers, and he smiled down at her as he tucked them around her tightly and sat down on the edge of her four-poster bed. "You know what your mother said when you were born?"

Angelique smiled, all traces of tears now gone from her brown eyes. "She said I looked like a baby angel," she said proudly. It was a story she knew well.

"And we called you _Angelique_, because you are our precious angel." Kissing her gently on the top of the head, Erik turned down the lamp. "Now sleep, my darling."

Angelique leaned up to pull off her father's mask and kiss his marred cheek. "I love you, Papa," she said beforeputting the mask back. It was a something that she had done since she was very small, andwhile he had never understood itentirely, made Erik adore the child all the more. She closed her brown eyes and gave an enormous yawn. "Goodnight, Papa," she said sleepily.

"Goodnight, baby."

Shutting the door quietly, Erik made his way to his bedroom. Christine had already changed, and was wrapped up in a bathrobe as she sat at her vanity combing her hair. She smiled at him in the mirror as he slid his hands down her arms. "Did you speak with the children?" she asked, not looking away from her reflection.

"Yes," he said. "And of course, Gustave did not let me in."

Christine sighed, and then asked, "Has Angelique stopped crying?"

He mumbled an affirmative as he leaned down to kiss her neck. "Come to bed," Erik grumbled into her skin.

She stood up and stepped away from him. She gave a stretch and an exaggerated yawn. "Oh, I don't know, Erik," she said. "I'm so _very _tired."

Erik stepped toward her, kicking off his shoes and loosening the cravat around his neck. He wrapped an arm around her waist and began to untie her robe with the other hand. "Are you now."

The robe fell from her shoulders and Christine stood before him in all her nearly-naked beauty, the sheer, black floor-length lingerie that he had bought her for their anniversary four months ago clinging to her form beautifully. Erik smiled, remembering the night she had appeared in the doorway of the hotel room with this very piece hiked up to mid calf, legs spread, hair down, and commanded him to undress. Now, however, he slid one strap down her arm and traced his fingers over one perfect shoulder. He let his lips roam over the skin there, biting gently. She gasped and reached up to run her fingers through his hair. "Are the children asleep?" she whispered desperately.

He had to work to find his voice. "Yes," rasped, pulled his vest off and casting it aside rather carelessly.

"You're—" She gasped again. "You're sure?"

Erik pulled her backwards onto the bed. "Yes." He kissed her again. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt as he kissed her, undoing them with expertise. He pulled the black nightgown off of her, and leaving her lovely body completely exposed to him. In spite of himself, Erik managed a smirk and said through clenched teeth, "I thought you said you were tired."

"I lied," Christine moaned as he his kisses fluttered across her neck. It had been over a week since they had explored each others bodies to the fullest. Lately, one of them would feel too tired, or one of the children had a nightmare and demanded to sleep between them. In one way or another, Fate would throw some obstacle in their path to pleasure. Now, the children were sleeping peacefully and Erik had remembered to lock the door on his way in. Christine lay atop Erik on the bed, completely nude, while he still had his trousers on. She quickly noticed this and pulled them off of him, giggling as she came back up to meet his lips softly. Pulling his mask from his face, she whispered, "I love you."

Erik flipped his wife onto her back. He pulled away from her as she tried, in vain, to pull him on top of her. Seeing the annoyed look on her face, he kissed her stomach before making his way to the sensitive spot between her legs. Her sigh of delight told him that she was, in fact, rather pleased with his course of action. He traced his tongue over the length of her sex before plunging his tongue into the warmth that would soon have her calling out to him. He searched her with his mouth, finding that wonderful spot that made her moans escalate by octaves at a time. Finding the swollen nub, he desperately wrapped his lips around it, sucking and licking until she was calling his name in breathy tones that made him feel remarkably human and... male. There was something in Erik telling him she was close to her release, so he quickly pulled his mouth away, licking his lips tenderly.

Sitting up impatiently, Christine pulled him up to her and kissed him with great ardor. Their tongues engaged in the heated and forbidden dance of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. He grasped her legs, pulling them around his waist and guiding her to him all at once. That one passionate kiss broke when Christine gasped as he slid into her. He rolled onto his back again, pulling her with him, and she began to ride him at a steady, normal pace.

He gazed up at her as she threw her head back, her curly brown tresses cascading down her back. Her brown eyes were rolled back in her head and her mouth was just hanging open as she gasped for breath. Leaning up, he pressed his face between the valley of her breasts and kissed there lightly. He moved to one, grasping the erect, pink nipple between his teeth and biting playfully, making her cry out pleas for more.

Slowly, he moved them to where she was against the soft duvet and feather pillows. He kept the pace steady and claimed her mouth as his own once more. The kiss stayed passionate and full of desire until he felt her walls clench around his length. He tore his mouth away to let out a deep, very guttural groan. Her own moans raised in pitch until she had to stifle her screams into his shoulder. The feel of her teeth scratching the flesh on his shoulder only pushed him further. With a few final thrusts, Erik felt Christine's form shake and convulse with long-awaited release and he soon followed, spilling every ounce of his seed into her.

She fell back into the pillows, her dark hair fanning out around her flushed face and making her look simply angelic. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he slid out of her and smiled down at her. She smiled back, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. Reaching up, she pulled him down beside her and rolled over to put her back to his chest, snuggling close to him. Smiling, he placed a sweet kiss to her temple and wrapped his arms around her waist protectively.

"I love you too," he whispered in her ear as she drifted into a sound sleep. Erik slept, _truly_ slept for the first time in a week with Christine in his arms.

_a/n Dear God. Thanks to Remy's Writer for helping me with that last part. (Yes, I did have to have my first truly raunchy sex scene co-written. I think it turned out pretty good, though.) You're my hero!_

_Here's a translation of what was said between Erik and Zoya (I tried to slip in what was going on, but I'm throwing this in for kicks anyway)._

**_How did you hurt yourself, child?_**

**_I am very clumsy, sir. I fall often._**

**_No one pushed you?_**

**_No, Mister Dussek. I swear it._**

**_You need not fear me, Zoya. If someone harmed you, they should be punished… Zoya, what happened?_**

**_That man, Heinrike--he is drunk, sir. He pulled me toward him and tried to..._**

**_Did he touch you against your will?_**

**_I ran from him, but in my haste, I twisted my ankle. I fear he would have raped me if Christine had not come along._**


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n A quick note for my fabulous reviewers—do you guys know that song from _Funny Girl_ that Barbara Streisand sings at the beginning, "I'm the Greatest Star"? Sing it to yourselves. Love you guys! Wanna be able to sing "I'm the Greatest Star" and really mean it? Then leave a review and belt it, baby!_

_Wow. I'm__ crazy, man..._

**CHAPTER 2—UNTITLED**

If it had not been for the few blissful hours spent in his wife's arms the night before, Erik may well have snapped and resorted to his old methods of loss of temper the following day. He awoke sometime before six a.m. to Eve's screams of hunger, and Christine had smiled apologetically. Rising, he had pulled on sleeping pants gone down to the kitchen in search of breakfast only to be told by the maid that Gustave had left around four. After scowling through breakfast, Erik had gone back up to dress. Christine had at some time collapsed back onto the bed and was now sleeping again. He managed to rouse her again, and then turned to dress. Giving her a kiss, Erik bid Christine farewell, promising to find her for lunch later.

Arriving at the theater at the ungodly hour of six thirty,Erik barricaded himself in his office behind the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated there. He quickly found this a good time to dothe paperwork required to run a theateras there was no one there yet to interrupt him. At seven, he heard ballerinas starting to come down from their dormitory and jotted his signature on one last line before heading to look for Gustave.

Erik was unsurprised that his son was not to be found anywhere near the stage and had just exited the auditorium to see if he was with Jean when a stage hand caught him by the arm, informing him that during the night, an entire piece of scenery had gone missing. Frowning, Erik tried to think through the headache that was now forming behind his eyes.

"How can a papier-mâché tree go missing?" he asked.

"Dunno, sir." The man glanced over Erik's shoulder and an exasperated look crossed his face. "If you'll be excusing me, sir…"

Confused, Erik watched the man go before turning around and instantly wishing that he had not. The sight that greeted him was not a welcome one, but it was one that, through the years, had proven Erik's devotion to his wife. Sometimes he was amazed the man was alive at all. Viscount Raoul de Chagny was positively the last person Erik wanted to see at seven in the morning when he was tired and had a headache. He was half tempted to turn and run, but he decided against it.

Erik felt a breif rush of sympathy toward the youger man—theyears had been kinder to Erik than Raoul, who now walked with a cane as he was escorted by his daughter.The lines around his face showed a great deal of stress from the past years, and Erik knew it had todo both with premature arthritis and the stress of his marriage. His parents had been onlyslightly disappointed when Raoul informed them of his divorce from Christine. His mother quickly threw a fit, though, when he informed them that heintended to remarry tothe divamother of his bastard child. Erik winced slightly as he thought of Bella as such, but it had been a bit of a joke since she and Gustave had first met. They made light of the situations that had brought both of them into the world, neither of them blaming their parents for what had happened.

Isabella de Chagnykissed her father goodbye at the door before quickly walking past Erik, looking down at the ground. Erik watched her go, feeling slightly bad for the young woman—she was apparently still upset about the day before. Christine had toldhim that Isabella felt responsible for what had happened, having heard so from Gusttave.The Viscount's voice broke into his thoughts, though, and he was forced away from unpleasant thoughts about his son and the young diva.

"I still remember when she was this high," Raoul said, lowering his hand to waist height. "It's amazing how they've grown, isn't it?"

Erik rarely found anything to agree with that came from the lips of this man, but today he did. "Yes, it is." He heaved a sigh as he glanced once more at Isabella as Gustave came to meet her. She appeared to say something to him, but Erik could not make out what. Whatever it was made Gustave shake his head and lead her down the aisle.

"I justdon't remember him becoming such a…" Erik looked for the words for a moment, then said, "Teenager."

Raoul laughed at this. "Yes, he is. Bella did mention something about you two having some sort of spat." He shifted his weight. "I was sorry to hear it."

A derisive laugh snorted from Erik's nose before he could stop it. "Of course you were," he said.

"I'm not being sarcastic." Leaning a bit more heavily on his cane, his eyes shifted back to the door his daughter had just exited through. "You have a bond with your son that I've never had with my daughter. I love her, but it's just that she can be so distant from her mother and me. Sometimes I feel as if I hardley know her even though she's my only child."

Erik felt a bit confused. In all the years he had put up with this man for his wife's sake, Erik had never felt sympathy for him. Now, however, he realized that Isabella had indeed always seemed, while loving, somewhat distant from both her parents, but her mother moreso. He also knew that Raoul was right—he did have a wonderful bond with his son. With the exception of now, however.

Feeling a gentle hand on his arm, Erik turned to see his wife standing behind him with Eve. He smiled at her, kissing her cheek and taking the girl from her arms. Sticking his tongue out, he made baby noises for his tiny child, and Eve let out a squealing laugh and grabbed her father's face. Christine and Raoul laughed and Erik turned to look at them, his tongue still out. Lauging with them, he bounced Eve in his arms before lifting her up over his head.

"How's my cherub?" he asked. "How is she?" Eve screamed with delight again and Erik brought her back down to her chest. "She's having a good day, isn't she?"

"Yes," Christine said, smiling. "She was so agreeable after she atethat I brought her with me."

"Unlike her mother," Raoul said jokingly. Then he made a face, and looked twenty again, saying,"If you both will excuse me, I have some business to attend to on Philippe's behalf."

Christine giggled at the disgusted look on her friend's face. "Have fun."

"Always."

He turned to go, but glanced back at Erik once. "Teenage boys are annoying as hell. Just pretend you're yelling at me when I was younger."

Erik smiled. "I'll do that."

Raoul nodded and exited through the door. Christine gave her husband an incredulous look. "Did you two actually have a civil conversation?"

"Yes," he said, handing Eve back to his wife. "And we agreed about something."

Christine beamed at him. "You see? I told you he's not entirely a fop."

Still smiling, Erik cupped her cheek in his hand. "And you've neverentirelybeen wrong," he said, kissing her.

She pulled away, a small smile still playing across her now swollen lips. "You should go to work." Eve squirmed in her arms. Christine looked at her, asking, "Do you want down?" She set her daughter on the ground where she pulled herself up, clinging to her mother's skirt with her tiny fists. "All she wants to do is stand," Christine said, shaking her head. "I got her out of her crib this morning and—"

Erik held a hand up to stop her. Eve was swaying toward her father, and Erik knelt on the floor, holding his hands out just beyond her grasp. Eve reached a hand toward her father and tentatively let go of Christine's skirt. Christine knelt across from her husband, eyes wide. "I think she's going to walk," she whispered.

"Come on, Eve," Erik said coaxingly. "Come here, love."

One of her feet carefully raised and fell back in front of her, then the other, and then she was in Erik's arms as she reached him and he lifted her up, swinging her around and laughing. "That's my girl," he roared. Christine beamed and pulled his face down, kissing him deeply. When Eve began to squrim one more, he asked her,"Does you want to try it again?"

He placed her back on the floor a few feet. Christine was giggling as she held out her arms. "Come here, beautiful!" she cried. Eve toddled back to her mother, not missing a step. Laughing again, Christine scooped her up. "She walked, Erik!"

Kissing her again, Erik burst through the doors to the theater. "Everyone has to stop what they're doing and look!" he shouted. He turned to Christine, gesturing frantically. She lowered Eve again. "Come here, baby girl."

Eve walked slowly to her father, laughing the beautiful laugh that only babies can make as she reached his hands and he lifted her up again, and waved her arms over toward Gustave, who was standing with Isabella. Erik let the baby go, and she made her way to Gustave. Smiling brilliantly, Gustave looked at his father. In that brief moment, something passed between them, and Erik knew that his son had forgiven him for what he had said the day before. Giving the boy a wink, he turned back to the door to look for Jean.

* * *

Enrique was never anyone's favorite, so it was not to sorrows that he stormed from the theater that afternoon, forcing Erik to begin to look for a new Jupiter. No one seemed able to take the part, and it was Christine who made a suggestion that caused Erik to flinch. 

"Gustave?" he whispered.

"Yes!" Christine dragged him aside. "I know he hasn't sung in a few years, but you have two months to work with him—rehearsals only just started last week. It's not as though he's missed much and—"

"Yes, I know," Erik said, running a hand down her arm. He could not deny that his son had been blessed with a beautiful tone. He had sung in recitals as a child, but his true love had turned out to be the piano. Most of the singing he did now consisted of singing during Mass and gathering around the piano with Eva at Christmas, changing the words to Christmas carols to be truly comical.

A hand waved in front of his face, and Erik was jerked from his thoughts by Christine's voice. "Well?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "Yes. Gustave!" he called.

Gustave turned from where he was hanging from a rope while painting a backdrop. "What?"

"Get over here!"

Rolling his eyes, Gustave called up, "Jean, lower me down. God commands."

"Right!" called Jean from somewhere up above. Gustave did not move.

"Jean!"

"I know!" Suddenly, Gustave dropped down to the stage with frightening speed, managing to land lightly on his feet. Glaring up, he called, "Thanks, Jean!"

Walking toward his parents, he looked between them. "I'm not in trouble again, am I?"

Laughing, Erik shook his head. "No, not unless you believe yourself to be." When Gustave looked confused, Erik said, "How fast can you learn Jupiter?"

Gustave's eyes widened. "I—" He looked back to Isabella, who had been listening to the entire conversation Erik and Christine had had, and was now looking at him hopefully. "I don't know it I can… Can I do that?"

"Yes, and I'll help you," said Erik. "You'll be just fine. Your mother and I have a great deal of faith in you." Gustave inhaled sharply as his father handed him a copy of the score. "You'll want to start practicing right away."

By the time seven o'clock rolled around, Gustave felt ready to drop dead from all the singing. He had not sung this much in years, and he was relieved when his father called a halt to the rehearsal, telling everyone to go home to sleep.

"Would you escort me home?" Isabella asked softly. "My father's visiting my uncle and I told him I'd take a taxi home."

"Sure," Gustave said. He waved his father and mother on, telling them he'd be home later, and followed Isabella to her dressing room. The door was unlocked and he let himself in.

It swung open silently. Isabella didn't see or hear him as he stepped into the room, sneaking up behind her and giving her a delicious shock. Her lips curled in a coy smile as she turned in his arms. "You enjoy scaring me, don't you?" she asked.

"I like making you nervous," he said mischievously, sliding a hand down her back to the very base of her spine. When her eyes closed, he pressed his lips to hers fervently, wishing she did not have to return home. As his hands drifted lower, she gasped and pulled away from his lips. He looked at her face, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Not taking his eyes from her, he pulled her back to the settee. They sank onto it, and she pulled his face back to hers. She reclined into the pillows and he went with her. He shifted awkwardly until he was on top of her, letting his hand drift up to her left breast. When she gasped, he whispered, "Is this alright?"

"Yes," she whispered breathlessly.

Gustave looked at her for a moment. Her eyes were very bright and lidded. He reached back to take out the pins that held up her hair and she sat up to let her blonde tresses tumble down her back. When she leaned back on the pillows again, her hair fanned out around her head and Gustave could not remember a moment when she had looked more beautiful. He kissed her again, moving his hand back to her breast and squeezing softly. She moaned slightly and arched her back, and he felt himself hardening. She had never let him go so far as this with her before. They hadmerely kissed each other, his hands remaining on her waist of tracing over her back.

Now she seemed to want his hands all over her. She guided his other hand down to her waist and he slid it under and around her to cup her bottom. Another gasp emitted from her lips and to his surprise, she wrapped a leg around him. A wonderful idea came to his mind—something he had read about in a book that Jean kept hidden in his room. Gustave tore his lips from Isabella's for a moment to look at her.

"I'm going to try something," he said. "You can stop me if you want to."

Her eyes widened and she looked terrified, but she nodded.

Kissing her again, Gustave let the hand that was on her bottom reach down and slide up under her skirt. He felt her take in a great gasp of air as his hand moved between her thighs. His hand brushed against her undergarments and he was amazed by the head that radiated from there. He was even more amazed when she groaned and arched her back into his hand. Looking up at her, he stroked her cheek with his other hand. "Do you want me to…" He trailed off awkwardly, but she seemed to know what he was saying.

"Yes," she whispered. "Please."

Nervously, Gustave let his hand slid up to pull away the cloth separating her from his questing fingers. The barrier gone, he let his fingers gently trace over her sex.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was amazingly warm and moist, and he found that his fingers slid easily over and through it. She gasped again when he reached the top, and he brushed his fingers over it again. Her eyes, which had been closed, flew open and she twisted her fingers into his hair, moaning into his neck. Shoving her practice dress up further, he was delighted to find that she wore no corset. She had mentioned some time back that it made practicing things she did not know very difficult. Now, he was extremely grateful for the fact that rehearsals had only just started. He ran his hand over her bare breast, and she gave a wonderful moan from deep in her throat and arched her back again. As his fingers dipped into her, her moans escalated until he was kissing her to silence her.

His fingers left her and he moved down to kiss her stomach. Her head shot up and she looked down at her nervously.

"You can stop me if you want," he said softly. "I'm going to try something."

His stomach was turning over with nerves as he kissed down her stomach and across her pelvis, moving his mouth awkwardly to where his fingers had been moments before while leaning over her legs. Deciding that this most likely was not how this was done, he hoisted himself up to rest on her thighs. Her legs suddenly parted and he fell between them, his face directly in front of her. Studying her for a moment, he smirked as she squirmed with impatience. Running his hands over her hips, Gustave brushed his lips across the place where her legs came together and she positively screamed with delight. He felt a rush of amazement and joy as Isabella began to plead with him in the first language she had ever spoken.

"Ti amo. Conservazione che va, amore, andare di conservazione!"

While he didn't speak Italian, Gustave had a basic idea of what she must have been saying. He plunged his tongue into the warm cavern and let his fingers dance over the hard place above it. She continued to moan in Italian until her body began to shudder beneath his touch. Reaching down, she pulled him back up to kiss him. When he pulled away, she fell back, giggling, running a hand down his heaving chest.

Gustave grinned. "I'm supposed to be taking you home."

"Oh, I don't want to go home," she pouted, pulling him down beside her.

"As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I think your father would still kill me." He kissed her forehead and stood. "Get dressed—I'll get the carriage."

She nodded, and he left.

The entire way back to Isabella's, she leaned heavily on his chest. She looked exhausted. He ran his fingers through her blonde curls. "Are you alright?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, smiling. "Yes," she said. "I'm just…" A yawn interrupted her speech and he laughed. "Extremely tired."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Leaning up, she gave him a chaste kiss on the lips before leaning against him again. "Do you still want me to come tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow?" Gustave wracked his brains, trying to remember. It came to him suddenly, and he remembered that his aunt and uncle were throwing a party in honor of their twelfth wedding anniversary. "Tomorrow! Yes, of course." He twirled blonde hair around his fingers. "Did you get your dress?"

"Yes," she murmured. "It's blue Persian silk. I always wanted one, so your aunt and uncle had it made for me as a birthday present."

Gustave smiled. "They want me to marry you."

"I know."

They were silent as both thought about what kind of life that would be. _Interesting_ was what popped into Gustave's head. Interesting and fun. He was jolted from further thoughts, however, when they arrived at the de Chagny home. Gustave climbed out first, and then held out a hand to help her down. Stepping out, Isabella linked her arm through his and he walked her to the door. She smiled shyly as he kissed her hand, then her cheek.

"Sleep well," he said softly.

"I won't be able to sleep," she whispered.

Unable to resist, Gustave quickly pulled her close for a real kiss, allowing it to deepen for a moment before pulling away.

"I love you," he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too," she said quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

It was not until Gustave got home that he realized how late it was. When he walked in the front door and into the dining room, the table had already been cleared. His face fell, and he heard a deep laugh behind him. He whirled around to see his father leaning in the doorway with an amused look on his face.

"You were supposed to be home some time ago," Erik said. "Your mother was worried."

"I know." Gustave cast a dejected look at the table. "I didn't realize how late it was. I was—" He broke off, embarrassed. "Bella and I were talking," he said lamely, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.

Erik's eyebrows raised. "So _that's_ what they call it." He laughed boisterously at the look on Gustave's face and gestured past the dining room. "There may be something in there to eat."

Gustave nodded and headed past his father. Then he stopped. "You won't tell mother, will you?"

Erik smiled understandingly, and Gustave knew that, somehow, his father knew exactly what he had been up to. "Not if you don't want me to." He winked, and then he was gone.

_a/n__ Sorry this update took so long. I'm really busy with class, and I also went out last weekend (in other words, I was a bit hung-over and unable to finish). I'll try to get the next one out quicker._


	3. Chapter 3

_a/n__ Um… Yeah. I'm not exactly about the way that last chapter came out, so I'm going to attempt to reconcile it._

_I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get out—you can walk backwards faster than this, I know. I'm just getting really torqued with English right now. I'm under the instruction of a grad student that wrote in an e-mail, "your chosed country." "Chosed" is a non-existent, grammatically incorrect word. Yeah. So that's what I'm dealing with._

_Baba Yaga is my hero. All hail the Mighty Mussorgsky! Rock on and review!_

_PLEASE NOTE: If you read this before 9:00 on Wed. night, it was confusing. It has been updated. Originally Christine was going to have a conversation with Bella about an overheard fight, but I changed it. I forgot to change the names. Sorry!_

**CHAPTER 3—WATCHING US, WATCHING THEM**

The sight of his daughter curled against her mother's warm shoulder was something that Erik thought he could watch all night. Christine's arm was wrapped around Angelique's shoulders as the girl sucked on her thumb. It was amazing how much Angelique was beginning to look like her mother. Her brown curls were unruly from sleep and he smiled as she mumbled incoherently in her sleep. A troubled look came across her face and she began to moan softly. Erik leaned down and kissed her cheek gently, whispering to her. She leaned into him, and Christine's eyes fluttered open. She blinked sleepily.

"Bad dream," he whispered.

Christine heaved a sigh and fell back onto her pillows. "I'm worried, Erik," she said quietly as Angelique snuggled closer to him. "She keeps having nightmares."

"I don't think they're nightmares," he whispered. "More like night terrors."

"There's a difference?"

"Scientifically, yes," he said. "Nightmares are more like bad dreams. They occur during a different sleep cycle. She wakes up kicking and screaming and crying." He looked down at Angelique, passing his hand over her curls. "She doesn't even know where she is or what's going on."

Looking down at the now peaceful face of their daughter, Christine heaved a sigh. "We should sleep," she murmured, stroking Angelique's hair absentmindedly. "We have Eva's anniversary tomorrow."

"Yes," he said softly. Leaning over, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "I love you."

"Love you."

He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew he was being jumped on by a small child. Very much awake now, Angelique was jumping on the bed between her parents. "Wake up, daddy!"

"I'm up," he muttered, reaching over and pulling a pillow over his head.

"No, Papa, get _up_! I want to go to the party!"

"The party isn't until tonight, darling," he heard Christine say. "Why don't you go see what Mathieu and Tristan are doing?"

The bed lurched as Angelique jumped from it, landing on the floor and racing out the door. It slammed behind her, and Christine rolled across the open space between them to curl up against her husband. "I love our children," she moaned, "but there are some mornings when I just wish they would… disappear for a few hours. Safely, of course, but still—disappear."

Chuckling, Erik played with her hair. "It's a comfort to know that I'm not the only one of us that thinks as such."

A girlish giggle escaped from her lips and she leaned up to kiss him. "We should get up. It won't be long before they're all in here."

"I suppose." Sitting up, Erik rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was silent for a moment before he heard piano music coming from the floor below. "Unless our son has suddenly taking a liking to Mussorgsky, I do believe Jean is here to visit."

"Which means Eva's here?"

"Or she's sent her faithful messenger."

Rising, Erik pulled on his bathrobe and a mask and headed downstairs to see his nephew. He entered the music room unnoticed by Jean, who was furiously pounding away on the Steinway at "Baba Yaga." He was reaching the end, his fingers pounding down on the keys, running from the top, down, then back up before entering the octaves and chords that formed "The Great Gates of Kiev." When he had finished, Erik applauded and Jean whipped around. He smiled sheepishly. "I didn't know anyone was listening."

"Good thing I was." Erik leaned against the doorway. "You're still good, Jean. Why did you want to become a stage manager?"

Jean shrugged. "I ask myself that sometimes." Raising his long arms over his head, he stretched. "My mother sent me to ask if you are going to want the nurse to take your children tonight, as well."

Erik considered for a minute. Nadra and Husni could be a handful on their own, and coupled with Angelique and Tristan there would likely be hell for the poor nurse. The one comfort was that she would have help for Eve from the ever quiet Mathieu; Erik would have to mention this to his youngest son. "Yes," Erik said slowly. "Yes, I would appreciate that very much."

Nodding, Jean stood up. He was very tall, and it struck Erik how handsome he had become. Gone were the chubby cheeks and baby fat that had made him such an adorable child. In their place was the strong, solid figure of a man unafraid of manual labor. His arms were muscular, the result of lifting heavy props. A white work shirt was usually stretched across his broad chest, and the hair of his chest just peaked over the top of it. The hair he had inherited from his mother was long enough to be considered roguish, which matched the boyish glint in his father's brown eyes. He had been the interest of many women at the theater, but he seemed content with what he had—a small flat above the theater where he wrote music and occasionally entertained his father's Persian ward, Zaira.

"I'll tell her," Jean said. He stretched again and smiled. "I suppose it'll be a nice break for you and Aunt Christine, having the night off from all those kids."

"Almost all," Erik replied. "Gustave is escorting Isabella tonight."

Eyebrows shot up on his nephew. "In public?"

"Yes."

"There will be a few members of high society there."

"As long as they're not French," Erik said, "I don't give a damn."

Jean burst out laughing. "I understand they're mostly Germans, Austrians, and a few Slovaks."

Erik smiled. "Those I can deal with." Heaving a sigh, Erik pushed away from the doorframe. "I don't suppose Eva expects me to wear a suit, does she?"

"Not only a suit," Jean said, smirking, "she requests that you wear a tuxedo with tails. You know, like the _old days_."

Erik looked over his shoulder to make sure that none of the children were there to hear. As far as all of them knew, none of the Dussek children, except for Jean, knew that Erik had once been the Phantom of the Opera. The legend was faded, now, so much that he believed that he could return to France and not be shot at. It was still there, however, albeit blown out of proportion. According to reports, Erik's entire face was a disaster—a rotting corpse hung over a skeleton. Erik would not take offence to this at all except that, supposed, it wasn't just his face that was revolting—apparently he had thin skin that just covered his skeleton. This annoyed him—he had always prided himself on his body. He was nearing sixty and could still sweep his wife off her feet and swing his daughters in circles. Granted, there was more arthritis in his knees than there had been before, but with Eva's natural remedies, he usually felt very little pain.

"I see," he said softly. "I'll be sure to find my gloves."

Jean chuckled again and walked through the door. "Six o'clock?"

"Of course."

Jean left, and Erik watched him go. He could never bear to tell the boy what a waste of God given talent it had been for him to quit performing, but there was no denying that his current position paid much better than his old. Jean had mentioned wanting to start a family before much longer, but he wanted to have a small amount of money before even thinking of truly courting Zaira.

Erik was jolted from his thoughts by a soft hand on his arm. He turned to see Christine standing behind him, wrapped in a dressing gown and wearing a small smile. Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. "Breakfast?" she asked.

"Certainly." Smirking, he grasped her waist and walked her into the music room, locking the door behind her as she giggled.

The rest of the day went by in a hectic blur. The process of getting three small children bathed and dressed for Eva and Nadir's party proved exactly what it had in the past—hellish. Erik tried his best to stay out from underfoot of his wife, but was quickly shoved in the bedroom to dress. He dressed slowly, not wanting to have to leave the safety of the bedroom. When he had finished with everything, sans his jacket and mask, he looked in the mirror. He grimaced at the sight of his own face and had just moved to turn away when the door opened and his wife entered. She smiled at him. "You look handsome."

"Don't fool yourself, my dear," he said darkly, glancing at the masks on the vanity. "Black or white?"

Christine shook her head. "I'm not going to tell you which one of those… those _things_ to put on." She turned away and walked into the closet.

As much as he loved his wife, she still had the ability to make him crazy. She despised his masks enough as it was—that he sometimes wore them at home only served to annoy her further. Tonight, it was most definitely a necessity, but she still seemed bitter about it. Heaving a sigh, he turned away from the mirror and the vanity and walked into the closet.

Christine was attempting to lace herself into a corset, and Erik took the laces from her fidgeting fingers and began to tie them for her. She didn't speak, but bent over to lean against a chair. "I've never been able to do it myself," she said quietly.

"I know." Erik pulled the laces tighter at the bottom and tied them so that they would not be noticeable through her dress. She winced as he pulled the stays tighter, and he glanced at her in the full length mirror. "Sorry."

Straightening up, Christine reached back to pull his hands forward and wrap his arms around her waist. Leaning back into his chest, she closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry," she said suddenly.

"Don't be." Erik pressed his lips against her temple. "I love you."

"Love you more." Smiling, Christine turned in his arms to kiss him before she stepped away to pull her dress off of its stand. Not having seen it yet, Erik examined the dress with his critical eye. It was deep red and fitted to her bosom tightly. After giving birth to five children, and she was no longer so frail looking. While she was far from being fat, she was much curvier than she had been when Gustave was born. The thought of their children saddened Erik as a random thought came to his mind. Something of it must have shown on his face because Christine put a hand on his arm, looking up into his face with concern. "Are you alright?"

"I was just thinking," he said quietly.

"About what?"

"Nothing."

Putting a gentle hand on his face, Christine turned his head to force him to look at her. "What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking about.." He turned away from Christine. "Is it strange that I still think of her?"

"No," she said, softly. "I do. I think about her everyday. I think about her every time I look at the children. There hasn't been a day when I haven't wondered what it would be like if she were here."

A sad smile crossed Erik's face. "Louder, undoubtedly. She was beautiful."

"She was."

Just as none of their children knew of Erik's past, none of them knew or remembered Mary. Several months before they had married, Christine had again become pregnant. She had only had Gustave two months before, and her divorce was in its final bitter stages with Raoul's mother calling constantly to berate Christine and her intended for their bastard child. There had been times when Christine had been so upset that she had fainted. Christine gave birth just after their marriage after seven months to a tiny baby girl. The doctor had not expected Mary to live for long, but Erik and Christine named and nursed her in any case. It was not long before a simple cold took their daughter away from them, and Christine had slipped into a depression the likes of which Erik had never seen her in.

Now, so many years later, Erik was standing in a darkened room with his arms wrapped around his wife's shaking shoulders. She pulled away, wiping her face on the backs of her hands. Erik handed her his handkerchief and she dried her eyes before managing a smile. "Ready to go?"

Erik nodded and turned to go collect the children. Within minutes, the family had crowded into the carriage and was on the way to Eva's. Gustave had long since departed, so Erik and Christine were left with their youngest three. Christine sat between her sons with Tristan looking out of the window and Mathieu, already tired, leaning his head against his mother's shoulder. Erik sat with Angelique, who was wearing a frilly pink party dress and nearly bouncing with excitement.

"Calm down, _bel__ ange_." Gently restraining Angelique with a hand on her shoulder he smiled weakly at Christine. She was running her hair through Mathieu's hair, and she smiled back at him. The carriage jolted to a stop and the door swung open. Erik braced himself and climbed out before Christine to help her down. When she was out, the carriage took off, and Erik looked up at the enormous house before him with a heavy sigh.

"Let's go," he said heavily, and Christine laughed again.

As it usually was for these things, the front door was wide open and the butler was ushering people inside, announcing dignitaries and aristocrats. As Erik and Christine neared with the children, the man turned and announced the presence of the Count and Countess Dusek. They were barely in the door when Nadra and Husni attacked their uncle and aunt. Little Nadra attached herself to Erik's leg and Husni began to pull on Christine's hand. Erik scooped up his niece and hoisted her onto his shoulders. She giggled and said, "We escaped, Uncle Erik!"

"I noticed," he said dryly. Right on cue, the harassed looking nurse appeared from a side door.

"Nadra! Husni! Get back here this instant!" The woman smiled apologetically at Erik and Christine. "I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly. "It's just that they heard your name and—"

"I understand," Christine said kindly. "Would you please be so kind as to take our three as well?"

"Certainly, Countess," the nurse said. "Come along, children, and we'll go see what we can see."

Angelique held out her arms to her father and Erik lifted her into his arms. "Be good, won't you?"

"Yes, papa." Angelique kissed his cheek and smiled for him, then leaned backward for a kiss from her mother. Smiling, Christine dropped a kiss on the girl's forehead and Erik set her down. She scampered after the nurse, followed by an enthusiastic Tristan. Mathieu hung back slightly, looking dejectedly up at his parents.

"Do I have to go? I would much rather go to the music room."

Glancing to make sure that the other two had gone, Erik knelt before his son. "Do you promise to behave?"

"Yes, papa."

"And if you leave you will go straight to the nurse?"

"Yes, papa."

Erik smiled. "Then yes, you may go to the music room."

A rare, brilliant smile spread across the boy's solemn face and he hugged his father's leg briefly before taking off for the music room. Christine's arm slipped through his, and they began to cross the room toward Eva and Nadir, who were, to Erik's dismay, speaking with the de Chagnys, who turned when they stopped beside the little group.

Sonia de Chagny looked as resplendent as always, but there was something written on her face that Erik could not decipher. It almost looked as if she was upset about something, but Erik could not really tell. The smile on her face seemed forced, and there was a slightly nervous look on Eva's face. When Raoul saw them, he gave Erik a curt nod. Erik nodded back before wrapping his arms around his sister's shoulders.

"Happy anniversary, crazy."

"Thanks." Eva smiled up at him. "How are you?"

"I am no longer in charge of my children for the night," he said. "How do you think?"

"I'm doing good, too."

Erik laughed and hugged her again. Reaching around her, he shook the hand of his oldest friend. "I see you're still tied down to this one, Nadir."

"Yes, I am." Nadir wrapped a loving arm around his wife's waist. "And I have no complaints."

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik noticed Sonia do something odd. She jerked her head toward the door, looking at Christine. Not wanting to draw attention to them, Erik continued to talk to Nadir, while watching Sonia out of the corner of his eye. After a moment, Christine seemed to see and said suddenly, "Sonia, do you have that book for me?"

"Yes!" She grasped Christine's arm and all but dragged her from the hall. Raoul watched his wife leave with an odd look on his face. He looked as if he would be sick, and he excused himself without reason.

"I need a moment, as well, my dear," Erik said, kissing Eva's cheek. "I need to go use the toilet."

"Very eloquent, Erik," she said dryly, but her eyes were suspicious and Erik could feel them following him from the room. It did not take long to locate Christine and Sonia. They were indeed in the library but it seemed to have nothing to do with literature. Silently, Erik slipped in the door and hid himself behind a shelf.

"I don't know what to do, Christine," Sonia was saying. "He's just… I don't even know."

This was indeed odd. As far as he knew, Christine and Sonia were merely civil with each other. It made sense—Sonia had, after all, bedded Christine's husband and given birth to his daughter. Now, however, they were sitting closely on the couch with Sonia's dainty hand clutching Christine's. Tears were running down the blonde diva's face as she looked down at her lap.

"But what's wrong, Sonia?"

"He's…" Sonia looked up and out of the window. "There's a girl in Venice—a friend of my family's. She's been visiting for the last few weeks and she's been acting odd."

"Odd how?"

"It's…" A shaky breath cut into Sonia's words. "She's all light and happy, almost as if she's in love, and I asked her what has her so happy. We've known each other for years—ever since she got old enough to start having intelligent conversations. She confides in me, Christine, and she won't tell me what's happening in her life."

"Maybe it's personal."

"Or a secret."

There was a pause, and the tension between the two women was heavy in the air. "A secret?"

Sonia's head snapped toward Christine. Her face was angry, now, all traces of sadness gone from it. "I came home from town the other day," she said slowly. "I came back early because Bella was not going to come home until later and Gustave was bringing her. I went upstairs to tell Raoul I was home, but he wasn't in his study. I thought he'd gone to take a nap, so I went to check the bedroom. When I went to open the door, I heard something inside and I pressed my ear to the door and…"

She trailed off, and the anger drained from her face again as she broke down entirely.

Dread was heavy in Christine's voice when she asked, "Sonia, what happened?"

"They were in there," she said hysterically. "They were together in _our_ bed, Christine! Making love in _our_ bed!"

Christine's face hardened with cold fury. "Does he know that you heard?"

"I—I don't think so," Sonia choked. "I sent her away but I said it was because her parents sent for her." Her sobs doubled and she began to hyperventilate. Christine's face looked panicked now, and Erik knew that she was at a loss for what to do. It would not be long before the loss of oxygen would cause Sonia to faint, and that would most certainly raise questions. If he was going to intervene, now was the time.

Stepping out from behind the bookcase, Erik crossed the room to the couch in two long strides and grasped Sonia's arms. Pulling her up against his chest, he pressed his hand against hers, murmuring, "Breathe with me, Sonia. Deep breaths, now. Breathe with me."

Christine stared at him with a look registering shock, annoyance, and sheer relief on her face. She held tighter to Sonia's hand, saying, "You have to calm down now, Sonia. Everything will be fine. Just breathe."

After several minutes, Sonia's breathing returned to normal and she slumped, exhausted, back into Erik's chest. Tears were still flowing down her face as Christine enveloped her in her arms. None of them spoke for a long time. Christine rocked Sonia back and forth while Erik ran a comforting hand over the woman's back. In a voice that was barely audible Sonia said, "I'm sorry, Christine."

Confused, Christine looked down at Sonia. "For what?"

"For… you know."

Christine smiled. "It's alright, Sonia," she said gently. "I owe you for that."

There was a knock at the door and a waiter stuck his head in. "There you are Comtess de Chagny!" Before any of them could stop him, he turned and called, "I found her, sir! She's here in the library." The waiter stepped out to be replaced by Raoul.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "I've been looking all over for—"

"Christine needed a book!" Sonia said.

Raoul looked confused. "But this is Eva's house."

"I know," Sonia said, her voice rising in pitch. "I loaned it to her and now Christine wants it!"

Erik and Christine looked at each other and, as one, rose from the couch and left the room, shutting the door and telling the waiter not to allow anyone in the library except for the owners of the house. They then returned to the main hall, where the crowd of guests had increased somewhat.

For the rest of the evening, neither of them spoke of what had happened in the library. They had received odd looks, but no questions, from Eva and Nadir. No one else seemed to have noticed anything, other than the de Chagneys seemed to have left early. Isabella had given them a questioning look and Christine knew that the girl knew nothing of her father's affair, which she supposed was good.

The night could not have dragged on longer for Erik, and it was near midnight before Christine was ready to go. With the aid of Jean, Erik and Christine loaded their younger two children into the carriage. Gustave followed in the other carriage with Tristan, who was still bouncing off the walls—Isabella had insisted on riding home with her parents. The entire way, Erik cradled Angelique in his arms while she slept, breathing deeply, her brown curls a mess from roughhousing. Mathieu was leaning against Christine's side, eyes closed, while she ran her fingers through his ash brown hair. She smiled sleepily across at her husband. "Interesting evening," she said softly.

"It certainly was."

Christine heaved a sigh. "What do you think will happen?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "Although we know what happened last time."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, a sly smile crossed Christine's face. "She isn't _with_ anyone else, though."

"True." Erik looked out of the window, and found that he felt sorry for Sonia de Chagny. "She should have realized how unwise it is to marry a man having an extramarital affair. They're more likely to be unfaithful."

"I was never unfaithful to you, though," Christine said.

"I know," he said. An equally sly smile crossed his face. "Why would you feel the need to?"

"I feel the need for _you_."

"Careful, Christine. We wouldn't want the children to wake up."

When he looked back at her, she smiled for him, and they were silent, basking in the glory of their blissfully silent children for the rest of the ride home.

_a/n Yeah—I'm not a Raoul fan. I'm uber sorry this took so long. I'm having some issues with English right now, so bear with me as I tough it out. I hope you all liked this chapter! I'm not going to make any promises as to when the next one will come out, and I know how much I hate to wait on people to do updates, so I'll do what I did with this one—five minutes… How much can I write in five minutes? ;) _

_In the meantime, you should check out _The First Last Kiss_ by Wandering Child. It's my current addiction, and it's FAN-FREAKIN'-TASTIC. An exclamation point at the end of that sentence would not have done it justice, it's so great._

_Reviews are fabulous! I like reviews! They pressure me…_


	4. Chapter 4

_a/n I'm soooo sorry this took so long, as I always am. I've had a ton of stuff to do—my English class requires me to go to the library about three times a week to pump out the three rough drafts before the final draft. Good times._

**CHAPTER 4—LET HER MIND WANDER**

When Christine woke early the next morning to be awake for mass, she was slightly surprised to see Isabella when she walked into the kitchen. "Isabella?"

Looking up from her coffee, Isabella smiled slightly. "Good morning, Christine," she said. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," she said, sitting down on a stool and pouring a steaming cup from the carafe on the counter. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I thought I'd go to mass with all of you today," the blonde girl said. "I… I'd rather not go with my parents this morning. They were odd the whole way home last night and I heard them shouting last night. I couldn't tell what it was about, though," she added.

Christine set her cup down, staring out the window at the stables. "They were shouting?"

She saw Isabella nod from the corner of her eye. "Maybe it's just mother," she said. "She's been acting odd this week. I came home from rehearsal on Tuesday and she was crying. She would not tell me what the matter was."

Nodding, Christine crossed the kitchen to sit across from Isabella. "Did your father say anything about…" Christine paused. "She was very upset; did he seem worried about her?"

"Of course," said Isabella, looking surprised that Christine should ask this. "He kept saying he was sorry."

"Sorry for her, or for something he did?"

"For her, I'd imagine," Isabella said. "He'd die before he did anything to upset her that much."

Christine swallowed a bit more tea before she stood up again. Forcing a smile for the young woman, she said, "I think it would be lovely if you joined us for mass. I know Gustave would love to have you, and so would the rest of us. If you'll excuse me, I need to dress."

Turning, Christine rushed from the kitchen. She had hardly set foot on the stairs when there was a knock on the enormous front door. Christine paused while the butler opened the door and grimaced when she heard the voice of her first husband.

"I do believe the Countess is still abed, sir," said the butler, but Christine turned back to look at him.

"No, I'm here," she said. "Show Viscomte de Chagny to the sitting room—I'll be down in a bit. Offer him coffee as well, but make sure Isabella doesn't see him." She said the last part softly so that Raoul would not hear—the last thing he needed right now was to have his daughter trying to find out what was wrong.

Rushing back up the stairs to her bedroom, Christine hurriedly slipped from her nightgown and into a blue Greek dress that did not require a corset. She paused briefly at the bedside to gaze down at her sleeping husband. His mask was off and his hair was ruffled from sleep. Deep breaths escaped from his slightly parted lips, and Christine leaned down to touch her own lips to his. He shifted slightly and his eyes peaked open. "Hello."

"Hi." Christine reached up a hand to push back the hair that hung in his eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Early." Christine kissed his forehead. "Go back to sleep."

"When are you leaving?"

"In a few hours." Straightening, Christine mussed his hair a bit more. "You should come with."

Stretching, Erik peered up out of her through green eyes that were clouded by sleep. "Why?"

"Because you never attend mass with us, and I have a feeling that we're going to need a great deal of prayer this week." Dropping another kiss on his marred cheek, Christine turned and walked from the room, pulling on slippers as she went. She arrived at the sitting room and glanced at herself in the mirror before she walked in.

Sleep lines surrounded her brown eyes and there were evident strands of gray mixed into her hair. She ran her fingers through it and rubbed her fingers across her teeth before stepping inside to have a conversation she really did not want to have.

Raoul was sitting on the love seat with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He reeked of smoke and whisky, and Christine frowned. "Are you drunk?"

"No." Raoul's eyes opened. Christine was not surprised to see that they were bloodshot. "Not anymore."

"So that's how you remedy your mistakes," she said darkly. "Drown them in a bottle."

"Only last night," he said. "Sonia's angry with me."

"She should have known better than to marry a man who cheats and lies."

"Like you and Erik did, you mean."

No matter what he said, he was still drunk. Christine had seen Erik and Nadir intoxicated several times and knew that the slurring of Raoul's words had nothing to do with his apparent exhaustion. "I did not feel obligated to marry Erik," she said softly. "You only stayed with Sonia for Bella—you know that."

"So what if I did?" Raoul stretched his legs in front of him and peered at Christine. "You didn't want to be married any more than I did. You fucked Erik Dussek the night before we were married."

Christine winced. She had never heard him speak with such vulgarity. "I'm not the one who spent our entire honeymoon in whorehouses!" Christine said angrily. "I can't help it if you never learned any lessons from our marriage. It failed because we were unfaithful to each other and you haven't learned anything. You keep sleeping with pretty young things and expect Sonia to forgive you."

"You think your marriage is perfect?" Raoul said in a soft, dangerous voice. "Why don't you ask Erik what all he _got up to_ when he went to Madrid two years ago? Does he know what you were doing while he was away?"

A sharp pang struck Christine's chest. "Stop it, Raoul."

"Oh, yes, perfect Erik," he said, bitterly. "Perfect brother, perfect Count, perfect father, perfect _husband_. Isn't that right, Christine? He's the perfect husband, isn't he?" He laughed at the look on her face. Taping her foot with his cane, he glared at her. "Don't tell me how to run my marriage."

"Don't make love to women in the same place you lay your wife!" she shouted. "I could have forgiven you, Raoul. I would have let it go, but no. You brought her to our house, into our bed! Our _bed_, Raoul! And now you have the nerve to accuse my husband of being false to me? How dare you!"

Raoul's face fell. He looked away for a moment and when he looked back Christine could see that her outburst had sobered him considerably. She heaved a sigh and poured a cup of coffee. "Here."

He took the cup from her and took a sip. "Thank you," he said softly. "And I'm sorry."

Christine was quiet for a long time as tears flowed down her cheeks and memories streamed through her mind.

_"I don't care if you come back at all…"_

_Raoul's__ face smiled at her across the bed. "Good morning."_

_"You've never loved me at all, have you…"_

_"Good morning."_

_"I hate you…"_

_"When's he coming back?"_

_"I hate you… I love you…"_

_"Next week."_

_"Go. You'll miss your train…"_

_"Does she know where you are?"_

_"We'll speak more when I return…"_

_"No. She never does, though."_

_"I love you…"_

The memories were bitter and still fresh and Christine had damned herself since the day she had left the house, leaving the children under the charge of Eva. Both of them agreed that it had been a mistake. But that didn't mean it hadn't happened.

Raoul managed to find his feet and leaned heavily on his cane. "I'm sorry, Christine," he said softly. He left.

Christine sat for a long time, not noticing that someone else was in the room with her. When she looked up, she found herself staring into the green eyes of her oldest child. She felt tears running down her face as Gustave watched her over his steaming cup of coffee.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

Christine forced a smile onto her face. "Of course I am, darling!" She stood and began to straighten the carafe and the coffee cups. Her hands were shaking and Gustave took the cup from her. Grasping the edge of the table, Christine began to sob. She slumped to the floor, still clutching Gustave's hand, and he knelt next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her to him.

She knew when he spoke that he knew—had always known. "It's alright," he said gently. "Everything will be fine, mother."

"Bella," she choked. "Bella's—she's in the kitchen."

"I know." Gustave's shoulders tensed suddenly, and Christine looked up to see Erik standing in the door. His face was undecipherable as he waved his hand at Gustave. "Isabella's outside. I do believe she knows something she shouldn't."

Gustave rose and walked past his father to the open door. Erik reached behind him to pull it shut. He stepped over to Christine and pulled her to her feet. When she was steady, he poured himself coffee and said, "I heard your conversation."

"With Gustave?"

"With de Chagny."

Christine squeezed her eyes shut. "I… I don't know what to say to you."

Erik gazed out of the window. "I suppose…" He inhaled sharply and Christine realized with a jolt that he was close to tears. "I suppose I deserved it. I was rather horrible to you before I left."

"That's no excuse," Christine murmured, reaching for his hand. "We were terrible to each other. And I was pregnant and angry."

Pulling her toward him, Erik rested his chin on her head. "I love you more now than I did the day I married you," he said softly. "And I love you more after what happened two years ago."

"I love you, too," Christine said softly.

"Perhaps we should all sleep in today."

"Perhaps."

_a/n Don't worry, all will be well. Again, I'm soooooo sorry this took so long. English sucks. At least my boyfriend's nice to me. Kudos to anyone that feels like reviewing this!_


	5. Chapter 5

_a/n I'm gonna try to quit smoking. Much support is needed. Thanks!_

**CHAPTER 5—SECRETS YOU KNOW**

With the exception of baby Eve, the children had been blissfully silent all day, having been kept amused by Gustave. Christine rolled onto her side to look at Erik's pocket watch, which had been placed on the bedside table. It read one o'clock. Rolling back over, Christine looked at Erik. He was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. She ran her fingers through her hair and he smiled, lacing his fingers through hers.

"Are we alright?" she asked softly.

Having shut themselves in their room, they had confessed everything to each other. Every bitter thought, every declaration of love, everything that had happened while Erik had been in Madrid—the brothels he had visited and the visit she had made to her first marriage bed. They had yelled, cried, made love, laughed, and made love again.

Now, they were drifting in the afterglow of their love and Erik's body was more relaxed than Christine had seen it in quite some time. He rolled his head to the side when she spoke and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I would forgive you if you did it again. I love you."

Tears filled Christine's eyes and she rolled into his embrace once more. "What should we do about Bella?"

Erik heaved a heavy sigh and Christine traced her fingers through the hair on his broad chest. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know whether to tell her parents that she knows or to tell her that it wasn't what she thought it was."

"She's suspicious at the very least," Christine said softly.

"I suppose." Erik's fingers toyed with the long curls that cascaded down her back and he rested his head back. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then he abruptly said, "I thought about you."

Confused, Christine looked up at him. He was staring at the ceiling again with a far away look in his eyes. "When?"

"In Madrid. I thought about you the whole time." The green eyes closed against tears that nevertheless leaked from underneath the lids.

Christine rested her head on his chest again. "I love you," she said softly. "And I forgive you."

Erik opened his eyes and smiled down at her, dropping another kiss on her forehead. "We should get up before the children come looking for us."

"I suppose."

Sitting up, Erik swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and reached for his trousers. Christine appraisingly watched the muscles of his back ripple as he stretched his long arms over his head. "I feel old," he groaned.

"You're not old."

"I'm almost sixty."

"You're fifty-one."

"Sixty feels close from this side of fifty."

Laughing, Christine wrapped her arms around his neck from and kissed his scarred cheek. "I love you, Erik Dussek."

"I love you, Christine Dussek."

There was a small knock on the door and Nadir's voice called, "The two of you had better get up. There are three restless children downstairs attacking the fourth."

Erik stood up and Christine wrapped herself in the sheet as he opened the door. Nadir stood outside, still dressed from the night before. Although his voice had been merry, his ruddy copper face was tired and grim. Christine had a horrible feeling in her gut that she knew why Nadir was here, and her fears were confirmed when she glanced over his shoulder to see Sonia de Chagny standing behind him with a thunderstruck look on her face. She glared at Christine, who looked down at her hands. Erik stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, and Christine grabbed her dress from that morning, pulling it on quickly and running a brush through her tangled tresses before stepping from the room. When she opened the door, the hall was now vacant except for Sonia.

Christine had known Sonia de Chagny for years—had entertained the woman in her home when Raoul had brought her from Vienna for visits. The two women had always treated each other with polite respect and, though they seldom spoke for more than a few minutes, had always gotten on fairly well. Now, however, Sonia looked close to murder as she glared at Christine. Christine found that she was ready for the insults that would likely come her way, which they certainly did.

Tears were flowing down Sonia's face, now. "How could you?" she burst out. "You could have had any man you wanted, Christine. Why him? Why crawl back into bed with the man that you divorced?"

"I'm sorry, Sonia," Christine said softly. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. It was a mistake, and we both know that. I know I've hurt you—I know exactly how you feel. But things will be alright. Raoul loves you and—"

"Does he, Christine?" Sonia's voice was almost pleading. "Does he really? If he loves me, why did he sleep with you? Why did he make love to you in my house after sending me on 'vacation?'"

"It wasn't making love, Sonia," Christine said gently. "It was meaningless sex when I was going through pregnant hormones and anger at my husband."

Sonia's face looked different, but Christine couldn't put her finger on why. For a moment she was silent, then she said, very quietly, "Why did you fight?"

Christine closed her eyes. "He said… something about Raoul. Raoul and I…"

* * *

_Only one of Christine's other pregnancies had made her so sick. The last forty-five minutes had been spent in the toilet vomiting while her husband slept off alcohol in the next room. The terror coursing through her veins as she became sicker and sicker was nearly overpowering. She could not bear another miscarriage. No matter what she did, she still felt ill all day. It hadn't helped that Erik had last night told her that if she did miscarry that it was a sign that the child was not his…_

_She loved her husband, but she hated when he drank and became an ass, accusing her of being unfaithful to him as she had been to Raoul. He had all but told her last night that he thought she was sleeping with Raoul again. As she raised her head from the porcelain, she felt dizzy. There was a small clatter behind her as her husband, still somewhat drunk, entered the room. He scowled at her._

_"How can you still be sick?" he growled. "You've been up for almost an hour."_

_"I'm sorry, Erik," she said softly._

_"No matter," he said cheerfully. "I need to piss—move. "_

_It was amazing how quickly he had gone from grumpy to cheerful, and Christine moved to sit off to the side as her husband relieved himself. When he was finished, he turned to Christine. "What time is it?"_

_"After six, I think."_

_"Find out for me, won't you? I have to get on that damn train at nine." Doing up his pants, he gazed down at her. "You're sure that baby's mine?"_

_"Yes!" Christine said angrily. She could feel the burning behind her eyes that proceeded tears. "Why did you go out with Nadir last night?"_

_"I'm not going to see my old friend for a couple of weeks. Had to say goodbye."_

_"I'm your wife!" she cried hysterically. "You could have stayed home with me."_

_Erik shrugged and turned on the faucet. "You've been acting like a bitch."_

_She could feel the tears burning as she tried to stop them from falling. "I can't help it," she said desperately. "I'm pregnant."_

_"That's your excuse for everything," he said, splashing water on his face. "'I'm pregnant,'" he said mockingly. "'That's my excuse to be a bitch.'"_

_"Stop calling me a bitch!" Christine had to work to stand up without falling over—she still felt sick. "You made me like this."_

_Erik laughed drunkenly. "You weren't objecting though, were you? Or was it your precious Viscount that fucked you until you swelled up?"_

_"Stop it!" Christine could no longer fight the tears and they fell down her face. "Why are you like this?"_

_Erik's face fell. "You hate me, don't you?"_

_"No."_

_"Say it, Christine! You know you want to!" His voice was both angry and sad. "Tell me you hate me!"_

_The words fell from Christine's lips before she had the chance to stop them. She couldn't help it—at that moment, for the first time in their marriage, she _did_ hate him. "I don't care if you come back at all—all you'll do when you get here is drink away your liver."_

_A dark look came across Erik's face at these words. "You've never loved me at all, have you, Christine? You've loved your precious Viscount."_

_The sick feeling in her stomach intensified. "I hate you when you're drunk, Erik! You don't act like yourself—you're a bastard! I've never hated you until right now. You want me to hate you? I hate you! There, I said it!" Without warning, she vomited all over him._

_"I hate you, too!" he said disgustedly. "I hate you…"_

_Turning back to the toilet, Christine vomited while her husband degraded her with cruel words. It was back again, that ceaseless sickness that her pregnancy had brought about. She couldn't stop the sickness and tears were streaming down her face as she began to dry heave. She could hear Erik crying, too, and the words coming from his mouth had changed. "I love you, Christine… I love you."_

_He reached down and pulled her hair back, gently combing the vomit from the ends where she had been unable to hold back her tresses. When she had finished, she sat back on her heels. She felt dizzy and still bitter with her husband. She knew it was horrible to send him away while they were still frustrated—it could not lead to anything good. "You should go."_

_"Christine—"_

_"Go. You'll miss your train." She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall._

_Erik stood up, knowing that she did not want to see him at that moment. "We'll speak more when I get back." He left the room._

_An hour later, when Christine had cleaned herself up a bit and dragged herself from the toilet, she stood in the doorway while the driver loaded Erik's bags into the hansom. "I love you," she said softly._

_Gently, Erik pressed his lips to her flushed forehead. "I'll be back in two weeks," he said quietly, and he climbed into the carriage, smiling sadly at her as it pulled away._

_Next to her, the boys waved goodbye and little Angelique reached out her arms toward her father, who blew her a kiss as she squirmed in Christine's arms. They watched together until the carriage had gone from sight. Christine let Angelique down and she took Mathieu's hand as the youngest three children trudged sleepily back into the house. Gustave stayed behind, holding tightly to Christine's hand. "Mama?"_

_"Yes, darling, what is it?"_

_"Why did you and papa fight?"_

_Christine's heart broke in two at the look on her oldest child's face. She hadn't realized that anyone had heard them, and it tore at her conscience to know that Gustave had most likely heard the harsh exchange between Erik and herself that morning._

_"Grown ups fight sometimes, darling."_

_"You told papa you hate him." Green eyes were filling up with tears. "Why did you do that?"_

_Christine's throat was too constricted to speak and she pulled her ever-loyal son to her, clutching at his thin frame as she wept. "I'm so sorry, love," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to do that. You know I love your father very much."_

_She didn't know how long she and Gustave stood there, but after a time there was the sound of hooves on the gravel and Christine looked up to see Raoul cantering toward her. He frowned at the tears on her face, and Gustave excused himself to go eat breakfast._

_"What's wrong, Lottie?"_

_Tilting her face up, Christine looked up at her childhood friend and first husband. "Raoul…" She paused for a moment before glancing back at the house. "Do you… Do you still want me to come see you? Alone?"_

_Raoul's__ eyes widened. "Good God, Christine, what happened?"_

_"I'd rather not speak of it right now," she said. "But I would like to come see you…"_

* * *

Tears were streaking down Sonia's face by the time Christine finished her story. They had slumped to the floor by now, and Christine's eyes were still closed.

"To this day, I regret that morning. I knew he'd send you and Bella away for a vacation. I knew I would go to his bed—your bed—and sleep with him again. I knew I'd do to you what you and he had done to me. But I was so angry that I didn't care. I didn't even…" Christine opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling. "I wanted to hurt Erik. I just didn't know I'd regret it so."

Sonia managed a nod. "I always envied you, Christine," she said softly. "You had a house full of children and music and love. You loved your husband, and your husband loved you. You still have all of those things. I just thought… I thought that something was wrong with the fact that I fought with Raoul. You and Erik never seemed to fight—after so many years of marriage you still seemed so happy. I guess everyone has problems, though. We cannot hold those against each other. Everyone makes mistakes. You made a mistake when you told Erik that you hated him. He made a mistake by getting drunk and saying what he did. Raoul made a mistake when he brought you over. I made a mistake when I left without asking why he was not coming. No one's perfect." She reached out and took Christine's hand in her own. "I can't do it now—not with everything so fresh. But someday soon, I will forgive you."

Tears were flowing down Christine's cheeks now as she squeezed Sonia's hand. "Thank you. That's more than I could ever expect from you."

_a/n Okay, hopefully that straightened some people out. Notice the quickness of this update? Yeah. Freaky. I only did it to alleviate some confusion. Hopefully that got rid of it._


	6. Chapter 6

_a/n For this chapter, I will be listening to the wonderful music of John Williams. For the last chapter, I was on a high of _The Last 5 Years_. Anyway, I like Pertie's idea—I'm wanting a cigarette so I'm going to write instead. Thanks babe!_

**CHAPTER 6—NO MORE GAZING ACROSS THE WASTED YEARS**

It had been a relatively peaceful afternoon—the smallest children were downstairs and Gustave had allowed her to rest in his room. None of them had attended mass that morning. Upon finding out exactly why her mother was angry at her father was bad enough. It had been worse when she had been about to go downstairs to find Gustave and heard a conversation between Christine and her mother instead. She had turned back around and gone back to Gustave's room where she had seated herself on the bed again, stunned at what she had heard.

Now she was lying under the thick blue comforter, head resting on the feather pillows, not trying to sleep but thinking instead. She had always known that she was the reason her parents were married—her father had only gone back to her mother upon finding that she was pregnant. She had found that out during one of their many fights.

Isabella was jolted from her thoughts by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Erik walked in. He gave her a small smile and gestured to the chair next to the bed. "Would you mind if I sat?"

"Go ahead," she said, forcing herself to smile.

He sat and they were silent for several minutes, both of them thinking their thoughts. After several minutes, Isabella blurted, "Does Gustave know?"

Erik raised his eyebrows. "Know what?"

"About… about everything."

Erik sighed and rested his chin atop steepled hands. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I hope to God that he doesn't." He frowned slightly. "How do you know?"

A bitter smile crossed Isabella's face. "I heard Christine and my mother talking." She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. "I'm scared, Erik."

"Scared of what?"

"Marriage." She sighed heavily as she tried to keep from crying. "Marriage and cheating and love and… everything."

A gentle hand covered hers, which was resting at her side. "You needn't worry about a thing, child," he said gently. "Not all marriages have problems like these. And even if they do, that's life—you accept it, you forgive, you move on."

"Do you forgive Christine?"

"Yes."

Confusion clouded her brain. "Why? She was false to you." Opening her eyes again, she rolled her head to the side to look at Erik.

His face was thoughtful, as if something had just occurred to him. "I love her." He gave a small laugh. "It sounds so simple—foolish, even. But it's the truth. I love her that much. I love her more now than I did when I married her, and I didn't think that was possible. It's been nearly eighteen years with her, and I'm only just starting to realize how much I can love."

Isabella rolled back onto her side. It was times like this, when they were open and frank with each other, that Erik felt more like a father to her instead of just Gustave's father. "How did you know that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Christine?"

A far away look crossed over Erik's face. "I thought I had lost her and by the time I found her again I had adjusted to life without her. I was just beginning to think that I could go on—find something else, _someone _else, to occupy my time. Then I saw her that dayon the stairs…" His eyes had lost their focus and he stared wistfully off into space. "She was so beautiful. She had this look on her face as if she thought she was asleep and would wake up any second. Then she passed out and I carried her up to her bedroom and when she woke, I took her home. She fell off the horse when we got back," he said, laughing. "She looked so beautiful and I couldn't help but kiss her. I left and the entire way back to Eva's and all through the night I could not stop thinking about her. I knew I loved her, I just didn't know how much. Then, the night before her wedding, I was lying awake and I realized that I was going to lose her in the morning. That was when I knew that I was bound to be miserable without her. I didn't ask her to stay, though—I couldn't. I knew she would be safer with your father, and so I let her go. I snuck off to watch her wedding and I cried like a small child the entire time."

Isabella was watching him now with a wistful look on his face. "What happened to them?"

Erik smiled slightly, reaching out a hand to run it over her blonde hair. "He met your mother and Christine came back to me."

"And they had me, so he had to stay."

"He didn't have to stay, Bella," he said gently. "He could very easily have stayed with Christine and left you and your mother on your own. But he left Christine because he loved you both—he still does."

"Sometimes I don't think he loves my mother." Isabella rolled onto her back again. "I know he love me, but sometimes I think that's the only reason he stayed with me."

"That may have been why he went back in the beginning. But he stayed because he fell in love."

"How do you know?"

A small smile crossed Erik's face again. "A few years ago I would have asked myself that same question. But one night, when you were on stage, I happened to glance across at their box and they were sitting together like Christine and I do—whispering and giggling and staring down on you with such love. Then he turned to her and kissed her hand and told her that he loved her." Taking her hand in his, Erik leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "After everything they've been through and all the lies they've told each other, they still love one another." He let go of her hand and tucked the comforter more securely under her chin. "You should try to sleep—you look exhausted."

Isabella smiled and closed her eyes, falling asleep before Erik had shut the door behind him

* * *

The sun had just begun setting before Isabella woke and Sonia took her home. Now, Christine sat in the window seat of the music room, leaning her head against the frame while her oldest nephew caressed the keys of the grand Steinway in the middle of the room. She was glad to hear him play—his talent rivaled even Erik, who himself said that, with more practice, Jean could someday be better than he.

Today, Jean was playing beautiful music from one of Erik's seldom touched Romantic period books. "To Spring" had always been one of Christine's favorites, and Jean was playing it for her now. She could feel herself falling asleep as Jean softly played the beautiful chords that made up the song, and the next thing she knew a small hand was tugging on hers. She opened her eyes to see that the window was now dark and she had been covered with an afghan from the chair. Angelique was at her side, pulling her hand, saying, "Mama, it's time for supper!"

Christine ran a hand over her eyes before smiling down at her child. "Alright, love, I'll be there in a moment. Just give me a few minutes to get woken up."

Satisfied that she had done her job, Angelique flounced from the room. Christine looked around. Jean was gone—the music was back on the shelf. The room was lit by a single lamp that had been lit on the table next to the door, which opened to reveal her husband. Smiling, he crossed the room, sitting next to her. She leaned her head against his firm shoulder, feeling for the millionth time in her life that she had found the one safe haven in the world in this man. His arms wrapped around her and for several long moments, neither of them spoke. After a minute or so, he said, "Long day today."

She nodded, not wanting to talk about it. He seemed to have other ideas, though.

"I spoke with Bella."

"Really."

Erik rested his chin atop her head. "She's a wonderful girl."

Against her better thoughts, Christine asked, "Did she know?"

"Yes." Erik brushed his lips across her forehead. "She said she heard you talking to Sonia."

Christine groaned and leaned against Erik. "Everything's such a mess," she said sorrowfully, "and I don't know how to fix it." The words sounded like they were coming from a child and Christine longed for nothing more than a long vacation from everything that had come crashing down in the last twenty-four hours.

"Don't worry," Erik said. "It'll fix itself. Eventually," he added, as an afterthought.

Giggling, Christine leaned back to look at him. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was slightly unkempt, but his green eyes shone bright with love and she pulled his face down to hers, kissing him deeply. He moaned and pulled away. "I'm supposed to be getting you for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes you are."

Standing up, Erik pulled Christine to her feet. She smiled at him and he kissed her again, more tenderly this time. When she pulled away, he heaved a heavy sigh and rested his forehead against hers and swaying slightly to music only he could hear. He began to hum an unfamiliar tune as he danced her around the room.

"What is that?" she asked.

"I don't know yet," he said. "It's something for you, though. About you—about _us_." He let go of her and turned to look at the piano for a moment before turning back to her. "I'll be a while," he said. "Make sure to save some for me."

Four hours later, when Christine returned to the music room, she found her husband asleep over an unfinished score of music. She gently slid it from under his hand and looked at it. _Amnesty of Angels_. She studiedthe music. The accompaniment was written for piano and was complex, but appeared to flow beautiful. The words were in French and spoke of undying love and wondrous beauty. As she studied it, she realized that the piano part was made up of Erik's favorite intervals and chord progressions, while the voice part was fitted perfectly for her range. A rush of warmth washed over her as she looked again at the title. Underneath it, a dedication had already been scrawled: "Pour ma épouse pardonnante toujours, Christine." _For my always forgiving wife…_

Christine put the score back down on the piano and gently nudged Erik awake. Managing to drag him back to the bedroom, she removed his shoes, and then went to work on his shirt, his vest and cravat long since having been discarded. She pulled off his socks, leaving him only in his pants, and hauled his legs up onto the bed. Changing from her day clothes into a nightgown, Christine crawled into bed beside her husband who roused from his sleep just enough to pull her next to him so that she could rest her head on his broad chest.

"Goodnight, my angel," she said softly, tracing his lips with her fingers. "And thank you."

_a/n Okay! So I don't know where exactly I'm going with this, so settle in for a nice long wait before the next update. It's 12:20 a.m. right now, if that gives you any idea of when I write, so my window is very small to begin with. I have some ideas of what could go on next, but I'd really like to hear what all of you have to say! Also, there is that week long break of Thanksgiving—don't necessarily expect an update. I'm sorry, I know—I'm naughty. However, I have juries coming up (if anyone out there is a music major, you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about and why I won't be online much) so I need to practice my music. I will work on this stuff sporadically though, because I've realized it's a wonderful stress reliever from homework and it actually helps me refocus my stuff. Peace out, rock on, R/R! And if I don't update before then, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!_


	7. Chapter 7

_a/n Here ya go. I put in a little bit of sex. Thanks, Steve._

**CHAPTER 7—THERE WILL NEVER BE A DAY WHEN I WON'T THINK OF YOU**

_Semele _had opened to enormous praise in Vienna, so much that Erik was considering another run of it sometime later in the year. For now, though, the entire family was taking a much needed vacation from Vienna and all its troubles, accompanied by the Khans.

The Dussek family estate in Czechoslovakia was beautiful. The original, imposing house had been torn down over ten years before by Erik to make way for a new villa that overlooked the city. Trees surrounded it and a small stream ran along the edge of the property. The first time Erik had come here with Eva, shortly after the Paris fire, he had imagined himself living here with Christine, perhaps with several children running around. The only problem had been the house that dominated the land. It was old and dark and had been poorly taken care of after the deaths of their parents. Not wanting to live in a place that he hardly remembered, and only remembered with pain, he had gone to live in Eva's little-used Vienna apartment. Years later, he had returned with a blueprint and an obscene amount of money, both from his inheritance and his work at the Vienna opera, and torn down the old monstrosity. He had built the villa mostly for pleasure, and as such had gone into a great deal of extravagance that had given Christine a laugh at the time. Now, with five children of their own in addition to Eva's, he was glad for the ten bedrooms he had put in the house.

Tonight, the house was quiet, as Eva and Nadir had taken the children to Bratislava to an opera that was touring from Paris. Christine and Erik were alone in the enormous house with Jean, who was pouring over ledgers to decide if he had enough money to propose marriage, and little Eve, who was busily toddling around the bedroom. Erik stood on the balcony outside of his bedroom staring down at the city below while Christine sat inside, knitting a pair of socks for Eve. Glancing behind him, Erik saw the little girl working her way toward him with her arms outstretched. He knelt down and waited patiently until she got close enough to grab. Rocking her in his arms, Erik saw his wife smiling out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"You're cute," she said. "She's going to look like you, you know."

Erik looked down at the child now cooing contentedly in his arms. Her curly locks were already darker than those of her mother's and her eyes, which had been crystal blue at birth, were now more green than blue. There was a tiny cleft in her chin and she, like Gustave had, loved to sit in his lap and make noises with the piano while he wrote. An image of a female version of himself popped into his head, and Erik knew that he would have to keep a close eye on Eve when she got older—she'd be stunning.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Christine turned her head. "Come in."

Jean poked his head in. "Could I interest you both in some fine wine?" He dangled a bottle in his hand in the opening of the door.

"Certainly," she said, smiling at her nephew. He opened the door the rest of the way and stepped in. Erik stood, carrying the now sleeping Eve to her crib in the next room. When he returned a minute later, Jean had poured a deep red wine into the glasses resting on the desk. He held one out to Erik, who took a sip and smiled. "Life's too short to waste on bad wine," he said, quoting the old Slovak saying fondly as his taste buts rejoiced his nephew's fine taste in wine. He looked at the bottle, which was a green and looked unfamiliar. "This is fantastic—what is it?"

"My own magical blend from your vineyards," he said, smiling. "It's a couple of years old."

"Did you happen to make any more than this?" Christine tilted her head back. "It's wonderful."

"Of course," he said. "But you'll want to be careful. It's a little strong."

An hour and a half later, the three of them had consumed two bottles of Jean's wine and were all ruddy in the face and laughing drunkenly. The door to the bedroom and Eva stepped in. They got very quiet for a minute, as if they were teenagers who had broken into the liquor closet, before Christine gave a small snort and they all burst into hysterical fits of laughter. Eva looked at the desk, where the last wine bottle still had a bit left in it. "You've had my son's alcohol, haven't you?"

"It's really good, Eva," Christine managed to say. "You should try some."

"I have," she said dryly. She smiled a small smile. "I'll put your children to bed then, shall I?"

Erik managed to sober a bit before saying, "Yes. Just tell them we've already gone to bed."

Eva nodded and excused herself, but not before downing the remnants of the bottle. Jean pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and staggered over, clapping a hand on Erik's shoulder. "She's great, Uncle Erik," he said randomly, jerking his head at Christine. "If you both will excuse me, there's a lovely Persian woman waiting for me in my apartments." He placed a sloppy kiss on Christine's cheek before staggering from the room, calling for Zaira.

Christine stood up, wobbling unsteadily for a moment before crossing to Erik and depositing herself in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him sensuously. He kissed her back immediately and just as things began to get heated, there was a knock on the door. He gave an angry sigh before standing up, setting Christine on her feet and crossing to the door. Opening it a crack, he saw Gustave standing with a letter in one hand with tears running down his handsome face. Erik's annoyance immediately left him and he opened the door all the way, gesturing his son inside. Gustave strode in, collapsing in a chair and dropping his head into his hands.

Christine looked alarmed as she looked at her son. "What's wrong, baby?"

He breathed deeply for several moments before raising his head. He stared at his parents for a minute before he said bluntly, "Are you drunk?"

Erik and Christine looked at each other sheepishly for several moments before their son's voice broke in. "Good. That makes three of us."

A shocked look on her face, Christine said, "I thought you were at the opera. And you don't seem drunk."

"It hasn't had time to sink in yet," he said. "I hope you didn't really want that brandy, Dad."

Erik leaned forward. "What's happened?"

"She wants a break." He handed the letter to Erik, who read it with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience.

_Caro Gustave,_

_Let me first assure you that what I am about to tell you was not brought about entirely by your proposal. I do love you—you know that. It's just that right now I'm having doubts about myself and my feelings. I feel that everything I've ever known about love and faithfulness has been thrown into a shadow of doubt. I cannot explain myself entirely without betraying the trust of both of our parents, but I will say that I have learned things about them in the last few months that upset me greatly. You may have noticed that I have been a bit distant, and I regret now that I told you when you asked that nothing was wrong with me. Something was wrong. It was nothing you did—it was never anything you did. You're a wonderful man, and someday I want take you up on your offer. Right now, though, I need some time to myself to gather my thoughts about us. I'm not ending what we have. Quite the opposite, actually—I'm trying to save it. I'm afraid that if I accept now, I'll regret it, knowing what I know. I don't want that to happen—I don't think I could bear it, or live with myself whilst knowing that I had hurt you so. All I ask right now is time._

_I will be staying with some old school friends in Rome for a few weeks while I sort everything out, so I will be difficult to reach. I'll write you, though, I promise. And as the song goes, "There will never be a day when I won't think of you."_

_Sempre il vostro,_

_Isabella de Chagny_

"What did you ask her?" Erik asked.

Gustave stared down at his hands for a moment before digging into his pockets. He removed a small black jeweler's box with "Cartier" stamped on the top in gold lettering and opened it, revealing a large diamond ring. "I asked her to marry me," he said softly. "She didn't answer, and I told her to think about it."

Christine reached for her son's hand. "I'm sure she'll come around, darling," she said. "It's as she said—she needs time. She's had… a bit of a shock."

Gustave's eyes were accusing. "What did you do?"

"I'm sure you'll hear about it in time, son," Erik said gently. "You can tell her we told you to ask you about it—I haven't the heart to tell you myself."

Gustave nodded. "I thought you'd say that. Does Aunt Eva know about it?"

"I'm quite certain Nadir would have told her."

He nodded, then shook his head. "I think that brandy's starting to sink in now." Holding a hand in front of him, he moved it closer to, then farther from, his face.   
"How do you know when you're drunk?"

"When you can't tell that you have five fingers."

"I think there's ten on this hand." He began to laugh and Erik sighed heavily, standing again and pulling his oldest child to his feet. "Where are we going?"

"You're going to bed before you do or say something you'll regret later," Erik said. "Tell your mother goodnight."

Flipping his mother a jaunty salute, Gustave said, "Goodnight, mother. You truly are the most beautiful woman in the world."

Christine blushed slightly, kissing Gustave on the cheek. "Goodnight, love."

Erik maneuvered his son out the door, having to support him almost entirely as he walked him to his room. "How much of that brandy did you drink?"

"A bit," he slurred. He smiled brightly at Eva's maid, Corinne, as she passed. "Hello!"

Erik caught the woman by the arm. "Would you mind watching him for a while tonight?" he asked.

Corinne gave Gustave a once over before nodding curtly. "Come, young man," she said. "And don't you get fresh with me."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, C'rinne," he said, "I only get fresh with Isabella."

Erik cringed and headed back down the hall to Christine. When he opened the door, he was nearly floored by the sight that greeted him. In the two or so minutes that he had been gone, she had managed to dim the lights, light several candles, and strip entirely naked. Now, she was reclining on the bed, eyes closed, her fingers tracing lightly over her full breasts. Erik's breath caught in his chest, both from mad desire and tremendous adoration for her. She opened her eyes when he shut the door and smiled luxuriously at him. "Hello, handsome." She vaulted forward onto her knees and crawled toward him. "Come here."

He had no thought in his mind other than total obedience. Her brown eyes were hazy with desire and, while she was still a bit drunk, she was sober enough to know exactly what she was doing, and he knew that she would hate him in the morning if he did not listen to her. He crossed the room to stand at the end of the bed, still a bit stunned at her unusually bold behavior. She smiled up at him and began to loosen his cravat. He leaned down and let his lips trace over her bare shoulder. She gave a soft moan and pulled his cravat from his neck. She hastily removed his vest and unbuttoned his shirt before pulling him on top of her. She arched her back, pressing her bare chest against his, as he gently nipped at her neck. He kicked off his shoes, and his trousers quickly followed. Shirt still on, Erik grinned down at his wife. "What exactly is it that you want, Countess?"

"You," she said desperately, bucking her hips up toward his, but he pulled away just far enough to avoid her. A high pitched whine escaped from her lips when he said, "I'm right here."

"But you're not _here_," she said.

Grinning wickedly, knowing that she'd have a fit, he maneuvered himself until just the tip of his hard body was inside her. "There."

"Erik Dussek," she growled, and her eyes lit up with a fire he had never seen from her before. "If you value your manhood, then get it all the way in. _Now._"

"Your wish is my command," he said, and without warning, he hammered into her. She gasped and her back arched up of its own accord. He slammed into her again and again while she wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted them higher and higher as she neared her release. Her moans increased in intensity and suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, her fingernails dug into his back and she began to shudder. He felt her clenching around him and he followed her over the edge of pleasure. For several minutes after, neither of them moved. When he rolled off of her, he stared at the ceiling for several minutes before he began to laugh.

"What is it?" Christine asked.

"You never did get my shirt off, Madam."

Then she laughed, too.


	8. Chapter 8

_a/n There are no more pianos and I'm stiff. (quote by Matt)_

**CHAPTER 8—ALL I ASK OF YOU**

Gustave would have given anything to be anywhere but Vienna. The bustling, romantic Austrian city was agony for the young man when the snow began to fall, trapping him inside with only his younger siblings and thoughts of Isabella to keep him company. He stared out of the window as snow fell before his eyes, thinking. It had been two months since Isabella had left and soon Christmas would be here. He hated the thought of the holiday without her—it pained him to think that she may well still be in Rome. She had written to him often to let him know how things were in Italy. She sounded so happy that it made Gustave bitter.

He hadn't realized that his hands were balled into fists until he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and looked up into the concerned face of his father. "You need to relax, son," he said, patting Gustave's shoulder.

Gustave shook his head. "What if she doesn't come back?"

"She has to," Erik said dryly. "Her things are still here."

Gustave managed to laugh a bit at this. He looked back out of the window for a minute before his father pushed something into his hand. "Here." Looking down, Gustave saw a snifter of brown liquid in his hand. His father winked. "Don't tell your mother."

"I don't know if I should," he said slowly. "She's already mad enough at me as it is." Ever since the family had come home, Gustave had come home with friends from the opera at least twice a week, ridiculously drunk, falling in the door and generally being a pain. Christine had hardly spoken to her son in the last two months, and Gustave had a horrible feeling that she had written to Bella, who kept telling Gustave to lay off the booze.

"What your mother doesn't know won't hurt her."

Gustave smiled and took a sip of Cognac. It slid down his throat smoothly and warmed his belly considerably. He gave a heavy sigh and found, when looking at his father, he was now eye-to-eye with the other man. He squinted for a moment before his father squinted back, saying, "You've grown."

Gustave straightened a bit, making himself as tall as his father. "I guess so. I'm as tall as you now."

The door clicked, and both of them downed their brandy as fast as they could before the door opened revealing the family butler holding a letter. "For you, sir," he said, holding it out to Gustave.

Erik forced a small smile for his son before taking the glass from him. "I'll leave you alone." He left.

Gustave looked down at the letter in his hand. He stared at it for a full minute before realizing two things. One, it was not in Bella's handwriting—it looked more like her mother's. Two, it had been sent from Vienna. It couldn't be from Isabella then, could it?

The note inside was short and to the point. It was in fact from Sonia, and it was to inform him that Isabella had been back in Vienna for a week and a half and to ask why he had not yet come by to visit.

"_You should come soon,"_ she wrote. "_This house is dreadfully boring with just us."_

Why hadn't Isabella said something about being back? She'd made no mention of coming back any time soon at all. Feeling more troubled than he had before the letter arrived, Gustave folded it back up, replacing it in the envelope, and left the room. Stopping in the parlor, he told his mother that he was leaving, not bothering to answer where to when she asked. He pulled on his coat as he walked out the door, the cold air hitting him in the face with biting force. He stopped noticing, though, as he walked toward the stable and saddled his horse to set off to the de Chagny home. He rode as fast as he could, not slowing until he reached the drive before the old mansion. He rode up, staring up at Isabella's window. There was a dim light lit, and he scowled up at it. The front door opened as he climbed down and a smiling Sonia de Chagny came bustling out, wrapped in an afghan.

"Gustave!" she cried, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "It's so good to see you! Now get in here before you freeze!"

His horse being taken to the stable by the stable boy, Gustave followed her inside, casting one last look up at Isabella's window before stepping inside. She ushered him into the sitting room, where she perched herself on the edge of her favorite loveseat. She smiled brilliantly at him. "It's so good to see you, dear. How was Czechoslovakia?"

"Fine," he said, glancing around distractedly. "Just fine. Same as always—same old Bratislava."

Sonia gestured toward her maid. "Won't you be a good girl and fetch Bella for me? Tell her she has a visitor." She beamed again.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Sonia smiling happily while Gustave, somewhat uncomfortably, sipped at tea left by the maid. After about ten minutes, there was a slight rustle at the door. Gustave did not need to turn around to know that Isabella was standing there.

"Mother." Dear God, had her voice always sounded so beautiful? "Mother, who is—"

"I'll just leave you two alone," the older woman said happily. She gave Gustave's shoulder a pat as she walked past him and he heard her kiss her daughter's cheek. There was silence for several moments before she spoke again.

"Who is it?" Her voice sounded mischievous. "Papa? Did you come home early—"

She stepped around the chair to see Gustave staring straight ahead, drinking his tea with every appearance of being calm. He had always been good at masking his emotions on his face, but his hand shook and gave away the emotion bubbling up inside him.

"Gustave," she said softly. "How—how are you?"

"I think what you meant to say," he said, setting down his tea, the calm air now obviously forced, "is how did I know you were here."

"Well." She managed a small laugh, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. "I suppose so."

"Your mother sent me a letter. I came here when I got it." He leaned back in his seat, forcing a smile, now. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

Isabella suddenly burst into tears, and Gustave felt horrible. Neither of them spoke for a long time, but he held her for what felt like hours while she cried into his shoulder. After some time, she managed to choke out, "I wanted to settle back in. I don't even have everything unpacked yet. And I was scared. I was afraid you'd be angry with me for leaving. I'm sorry, Gustave."

She looked so pitiful that Gustave burst out laughing, holding her a little closer. "Darling, I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "I don't blame you for being angry. I didn't even tell you I was back. I didn't know… I didn't know what to say to you." Suddenly, she tilted her head back to look up at him. "Are you taller?"

Laughing again, he kissed her forehead. "That's exactly what my father said to me this afternoon. I can look him in the eye now."

"I love you," she murmured against his shoulder. "I missed this."

"What?"

"You. You holding me." She inhaled deeply. "I missed the way you smell."

"I smell?"

"Like cologne."

Taking her hands, Gustave led her toward the comfortable loveseat and sat down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "Hello."

He smiled down at her. "Hello."

"Did you miss me?"

"You know I did," he said. "I'm sure my mother told you all about it."

Pulling a face, Isabella tightened her hand on his. "I wish you hadn't drunk so much. You worried your poor mother sick." She planted a kiss on his cheek. "But I'm glad you're safe. And _here_." She draped her arm over his waist, her hand coming to rest on his thigh, where his pocket was. Nimble fingers tracing over the lump there, she smirked. "Happy to see me?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "But that's not what that is."

Her face turned bright scarlet. "Oh. What is it?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, straightening up. He knew damn well what was in his pocket, but he didn't want to ruin the perfection of the moment with it. It was to his horror, therefore, that she dug into his pocket and pulled out the tiny box that had started all their troubles. They both froze when she saw what it was. The tiny box from Cartier was clutched in her fingers, and they both stared at it, knowing what it meant. His mind was racing with a million thoughts as she looked at it with those beautiful eyes. He was terrified.

But then she looked up at him and took his hand, pressing the little box into it. "Ask me again, Gustave."

His overactive brain screeched to a halt and he shook his head to clear it. "What?"

"Ask me again. You know—what you asked me before you left. Before _I_ left." Her chocolate eyes filled with tears as she squeezed his empty hand tightly.

It hadn't been this hard last time. There had not been so much riding on it. Back then, there had been no Rome, no vodka and dancing girls on bars, no fighting, no little white lies that had caused pain. There had only been them and a tiny box he had bought on a whim, just in case. But now, he had to work to ease himself onto one knee and not to fall over. His fingers were shaking more than before as he popped the box open, revealing the ring that he knew would fit so perfectly onto her slender finger, and taking her hand again with his other hand. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before opening them again to look at her. Her face was so bright and hopeful, eyes so beautiful, lips so inviting…

The four little words slipped from his lips before he had time to think any more about it. Then she was tackling him to the ground, kissing his whole face before making her way to his mouth. He wasn't sure, looking back later, who put the ring on her finger. He thought it was him, but it could have been her, or both of them. But it was on and she was his. Forever.

_a/n Couple more chapters and an epilogue and this bad boy's done._

_a/n_ _(after baby fix-its) Thanks to Dani for the TM pointing out that I mixed up mommy and daughter again. Originally, Sonia's name was going to be Isabella, then for some odd reason (I still don't remember why) I changed my mind. The back of my brain still says Isabella sometimes, though. smiles sheepishly Thanks, DJ._


	9. Chapter 9

_a/n_ _Huzzah! An update! Absolutely nothing happens in this chapter! It is almost entirely fluff! (here, the author of the story you are, for some strange reason, still reading pauses to wonder why she keeps using exclamation points, then shrugs) I needed some fluff—it's been a rough week. I love you all! (and here, your oddball author runs in circles as she realizes that she's used yet _another _exclamation point)_

**CHAPTER 9—LOVE'S DUET**

Vienna in winter had never been more beautiful than it was at that moment, Gustave decided. Looking down at twilight, as the deepening blue took over the sky, Gustave was content to sit on the roof in his opera cloak and hat with a cigarette. The matinee of _The Messiah_ had been a successful end to a successful two week long run. As Isabella had not been back in time for rehearsal, his mother made a now rare appearance in her place, which had positively brought down the house.

When she had descended the grand staircase of the de Chagny home, Gustave's breath had left his chest in a rush. She had looked beautiful. Her blonde tresses had been piled in curls with pins on top of her head and she wore a gown that served to be both festive and accentuating to her figure. Green velvet had flown over a golden underskirt made of silk, all the way down to the floor. Her face was a bit flushed as Gustave helped her into her black cloak, then out the door to the waiting carriage. Tonight had been the first time he watched a performance with her beside him, instead of watching her perform in front of him. He had held her silk-covered hand through the entire performance and watched her, entranced, instead of focusing on the performance below as she was.

Now she was below, celebrating the end of the year with the rest of the company, who were thrilled with her return. Engrossed in his thoughts, Gustave had noticed neither the full darkening of the sky or the presence of someone else on the roof with him until a gentle hand rested on his arm. He turned to see his mother, wrapped in his father's cloak and looking all the tinier for it, smiling up at him with concern in her eyes. Reaching up, she ran her hand across his hair like she had done when he was much younger.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Gustave smiled. "I'm fabulous."

Christine's eyebrows raised a bit. "Fabulous."

Nodding, Gustave kissed his mother's cheek before flicking the cigarette over the edge of the building. "Merry Christmas, mother." He wrapped an arm around her tiny shoulders.

She gave a small laugh and leaned against her oldest son's side. "Why aren't you down with the rest of them?" she asked.

Gustave shrugged. "It's a little loud for me tonight, I suppose."

A small smile played across Christine's face. "Since when have things become too loud for you? It seems like only last week you were tromping around the house in your father's too-big shoes singing at the top of your little voice."

A laugh escaped from Gustave's lips and he shook his head, smiling. "Since I've been putting serious thought into settling down."

"A thought your father still finds hard to come to terms with. Count Gustave Dussek wants to settle down and get married."

Gustave rolled his eyes at the use of his title. "Why's it hard to come to terms with?"he asked.

"He thinks he's getting old." She shook her head and wrapped her arm around his waist. "Just the other day he was saying he's nearly sixty and he feels old. You leaving the house and getting married just makes him feel older."

Gustave gave his mother a sly smile. "Who said anything about moving out?"

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, reaching up to ruffle his hair again. "I'm not having two newlyweds under my roof. And speaking of newlyweds," she added, "have the two of you set a date yet?"

It was the question that she had never stopped asking since that day that he had rushed off to see Isabella upon finding that she was home. The amount of persistence that accompanied the question depended on whether it came from Christine or Sonia, though. As usual, Christine was satisfied with an answer that they had discussed it. She nodded happily and linked her arm through his as she led him back downstairs, where his father was now waiting to take the family home.

"I'll be out in a minute," Gustave said, looking around for Isabella. "Just want to say goodbye."

"Don't take too long," Erik said. Gustave blushed when he saw the mischievous glint in his father's eye.

Shoving his way through the crowd, Gustave pulled Isabella aside and into her dressing room. She smiled brilliantly at up at him as he closed the door and pulled him to her. "Your mother was fantastic," she said excitedly. "I've never seen her on the stage, you see, and it was quite an experience to—"

She was silenced by the pair of lips that pressed frantically against hers and she gave a small giggle as he swept her off her dainty feet and spun her around, landing both of them in a comfortable love seat. Pulling away from her, Gustave studied her flushed face and swollen lips with fascination before kissing her forehead. "I'm afraid I have to leave, my love."

"No!" Her voice raised slightly as she pleaded with him, praising him with declarations of love and words of need. It was only when he kissed her again that she stopped, and she smiled when he pulled away.

"My father's waiting outside with the carriage and there's no end to the teasing I'll get if I don't hop along quick." He kissed the tip of her nose and set her back on her feet. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is Christmas," she said. "I _have_ to see you tomorrow, even if it's only for a moment."

"And I shall count the moments between now and then with bated breath and thoughts of love."

Another small giggle escaped her lips. "I love you, too."

* * *

Dinner that night was a cheerful affair, with Tristan telling jokes while their father debated politics with Gustave. Christine was busily trying to keep Angelique from knocking her glass over as she rambled on and on about how pretty their mother had looked and how beautifully she had sang that night. As always, Mathieu ate in the gentle silence with which he usually conducted himself. Afterwards, the family retired to the red room, where the younger boys sat playing marbles while Angelique watched. 

Gustave had been lounging drowsily in his chair in front of the fire when Christine stepped across to him. Smiling, she placed a glass of wine on the table next to him. "Merry Christmas, darling," she said, kissing his cheek.

She crossed back to her husband and sat down on the sofa beside him, curling her feet up underneath her. Erik wrapped one strong arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she gave a contented little sigh as she surveyed her children playing. Tristan and Mathieu were now wrestling playfully on the open floor and Gustave had begun to tickle an unsuspecting Angelique. Eve was asleep in her crib upstairs, so Christine felt no urge to silence her children. Just as she was beginning to fall asleep on Erik's comfortable shoulder, she heard a screech of laughter that jolted her back awake. She shook her head to clear it and got to her feet.

"Children," she said, just loudly enough to be heard. All activity on the carpet ceased as four pairs of eyes, both brown and green, looked up at her. "Sleep well, babies, and soon it will be Christmas."

"Will there be lots of presents, mama?" Tristan asked, hopping to his feet and tugging on hand. "Will there?"

"I don't know, darling," she said mysteriously. "I suppose you'll have to wait until morning." Bending down, she kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep tight, Tristan." Holding out her arms for Mathieu, she folded her youngest son into her, kissing his cheek and smiling down at him before she straightened. Gustave was standing, holding the hand of a now-drowsy looking Angelique.

"Goodnight, mother," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Do you want Angelique? I think she's about to fall asleep on her feet."

"No, I'm not," the little girl said, but she let loose an enormous yawn that gave her away. Angelique walked over to her mother and took her hand. Christine smiled down at her daughter and led her to her father.

"Tell your papa goodnight," she said.

Angelique crawled into Erik's lap and snuggled into his chest. "Goodnight, papa," she said with another enormous yawn. Then she was asleep.

He shook his head. "Never fails," he said, standing up carefully, as not to wake his sleeping daughter. He smiled at his children. "Sleep well," he said, then he turned a critical eye to Gustave. "Make sure the boys get to bed late. I want to have a Christmas where I actually get to sleep in."

"Not likely," Christine said with a small smile as she ran a hand over Angelique's curls. "We should get this little one up to bed." She placed a hand on the small of her husband's back and followed him up the stairs to Angelique's bedroom. Once inside, Christine reached for a nightgown while Erik began to remove toys from the bed. Once Angelique was in her nightclothes, he pulled back the comforter and watched as Christine placed the tiny girl on the bed and covered her up. She leaned down and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Goodnight, darling," she whispered.

When she had stepped back, Erik knelt beside the bed and stared down at Angelique. Brushing her curls back from her face, he smiled when her brown eyes opened sleepily and she stared up at him. "Goodnight, papa," she murmured.

"Goodnight, _bel ange_," he said softly. He kissed her cheek and pulled the covers up tighter. "Sleep the whole night through and tomorrow will be Christmas."

She smiled and closed her eyes again. "I love you, papa," she whispered. "I love you, mama."

Christine smiled and kissed Angelique's other cheek. "I love you, too, darling."

Quietly, Erik and Christine crept from their daughter's room as she quickly fell back into a deep sleep. Smiling, Christine eased the door shut behind her. "Are you coming to bed?" she asked.

"In a few minutes," he said softly. "I think I'd like a brandy before bed." With that, he gave her a short kiss before heading toward the library.

Christine made her way slowly to the bedroom where she changed into a long white nightshift before climbing into bed and snuggling deep into the pillows. She was nearly falling asleep again when she heard the door open. Erik quietly made his way around the room in the process of undressing and she didn't open her eyes until he was in the bed next to her. An arm snaked its way around her waist and pulled her against her husband's firm chest and she smiled as she leaned into him. He placed a gentle kiss on the back of her neck and his agile fingers toyed with her brown curls.

"Tomorrow is Christmas," he murmured. "Do you know why I love Christmas?"

"Because you get lots of presents?"

She felt him press his face into the hair that rested on the pillow behind her head and inhale deeply. "Because," he said simply, "it sounds like your name."

For some reason, tears sprung to her eyes at this. She wondered if he knew that the times when he was the most romantic were those times when he spoke plainly and lovingly, just like this. She rolled onto her back and pulled Erik's head against her chest, pressing her cheek against the top of his head. "I love you, you know," she said softly.

"I do know," he said. "But I'll bet I love you more." He leaned up and kissed her cheeks, where tears of love had left tracks on her porcelain skin. "I love you, Christine."

She pulled his face up to hers and kissed him deeply. He shifted so that he was on top of her, and his hands stroked back her hair from her face. When he pulled away, he smiled down at her. "How awake are you?"

"Awake enough," she murmured, pulling him down for another kiss. He kissed her back, slowly and passionately, and she felt her toes curl beneath the blankets. She smiled as she thought how only this man could still curl her toes after nearly twenty years. His lips left hers to wreak havoc on her neck and she inhaled deeply as his teeth caught the delicate skin behind her ear. Brown eyes fluttered shut and all she knew was pleasure. Knowing hands slid down her slender frame, running over every curve and sensitive place from shoulder to hips. They grasped at the nightgown and pulled it up to her waist before making their way between her legs, where no cloth stopped them from their destination. Fingers danced and she cried out in passion as Erik touched the places that gave her the most pleasure. Desperate to please him as well, she moved her shaking hands to the waistband of his sleep pants and untied them. Once they had been removed, Christine ran her hands over the hardened flesh she found and smiled as she heard the hiss of breath her husband expelled from between his lips.

"Please," he gasped. "_Please_."

He was helpless as she rolled him onto his back and pleasured him as he so often did her. She felt his hands in her hair, urging her on for a bit before he pulled her back up to his face and kissed her deeply. "I love you," he whispered.

She smiled again at him as he rolled her onto her back again and slowly took her from behind. She inhaled deeply as he slid in and out of her slowly, one hand finding its way back to her front. She moaned and curled closer to him, feeling the scorching heat in her veins that signaled her release. Voice rising in cries of passion, Christine rode the waves of pleasure that rolled throughout her body and felt Erik shaking behind her—heard his strangled voice call out her name.

After it was over, his lips traced over her sweaty back and across her hair, then to her shoulders, finally making their way around to her own lips. She gave a happy sigh and smiled as he curled onto his side, spooning against her back and resting his chin on her shoulder. Christine turned her head and kissed his scarred cheek before she whispered, "I love you."

And before she knew it, she had fallen asleep under her husband's loving gaze.

_a/n Like I said, fluff. I needed to do some fluff. And earn this story its rating. (here, your peculiar author begins to fall asleep in her chair before jolting awake again and looking around, wondering where the pink monkeys went) YO! Um… Yeah. Sleepy time._


	10. Chapter 10

_a/n_ _Isabella's dress in this chapter is inspired by an absolutely amazing evening dress I found while somewhat unenthusiastically Googling vintage dresses. It's fabulous! Google www DOT vintagetextile DOT com/newpage218.htm and you'll see what I mean. Christine's is a bit fun, too. It's at www DOT vintagetextile DOT com/newpage502.htm if you have the urge to look at it. Also, there's a small salute to Jason Robert Brown's _The Last 5 Years _in here, and another one to Billy Joel. Kudos to anyone who can find them._

**CHAPTER 10—HERE WITH YOU, BESIDE YOU**

The socialites of Vienna were thrown into frenzy over the announcement that the Viscomtess de Chagny was to marry young Count Dussek. It was unsurprising, therefore, that the Dussek household was exceedingly busy during the month of April, readying for a dinner to be thrown for the couple. The afternoon of the evening of the party, Gustave and his father took to sitting in the sitting room, hiding from the women bustling around shouting at the servants and pointing where they wanted different things to go. It was several hours before the butler discovered them and informed them that it was time to begin getting ready. Retreating to his room, he could hear Isabella in the guest room, talking animatedly to her maid, who had accompanied them. As tempted as he was to poke his head in the door to see what she was wearing, Gustave closed his door and began to undress. He heaved a sigh as he looked toward the dinner suit that had been neatly pressed and laid across his bed. Pulling it on, he began to tie the golden silk cravat, but his fingers fumbled with a sudden wave of nerves. He was getting _married_ in two weeks.

A knock on the door nearly startled him out of his skin, and he called for the person in the hall to enter. Isabella stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "They're nearly ready for us downstairs," she said, smiling. "There's got to be well over a hundred people here!"

Gustave could not answer, for he had no breath to do so. She looked stunning. The evening gown she wore was, in actuality, relatively simple, but there was beautiful stitching across the bust. It was black satin damask with a moderate floral print—not enough to be overly bright, but just enough to add a touch of elegance. It ended in a small train that fanned elegantly behind her and accentuated her figure wonderfully. Finishing the ensemble off was one of her family's tiaras, nestled into her blonde hair, which had been piled up on top of her head.

She waved a hand in front of his face. "Did you hear me?"

He gave his head a slight shake to clear it before he answered. "I—I can't get this damn thing right."

Moving to stand in front of him, Isabella tied his cravat with a flourish and smiled up at him as she tucked it into his jacket. "You look very handsome."

"You look—" He searched for words. "Beautiful" could not do her justice. He was sure no one in the world was lovelier than she was at that moment, and when he told her so, she blushed bright red.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Taking his arm, she looked at them in the mirror. "Ready?"

"No," he said weakly. "Do I have to go?"

Isabella raised her eyebrows. "Certainly."

"Then let's get it over with."

As they walked down the hall to the staircase, Gustave's stomach was doing flips and twists. Their parents were all waiting at the end of the hall, toward the top of the stairs. Hearing them near, Christine turned around. Her smile lit up the dimly lit hallway and she reached out to hug her future daughter-in-law. "You look beautiful, Bella."

Gustave was delighted when she blushed again, but his delight turned back to nerves when his father shook his hand, hard, before turning to announce them. Isabella's grip on his arm tightened as they walked to the top of the stairs, smiling politely at the people below, all of whom were clapping enthusiastically. As the applause died down a bit, they descended, moving in perfect tandem as he took her hand to lead her in the first dance of the evening, a gavotte. Afterward, they stepped away from the floor and began greeting the various dignitaries that were in attendance.

When it was time for dinner, Gustave sat next to Isabella, smiling throughout the toasts to them. When food was placed on the table and attention was away from them somewhat, he took her gloved hand back in his and placed a tender kiss on her fingers. She smiled sweetly at him and leaned over to whisper the most wicked things in his ear.

The party went on well into the night and Gustave was beginning to think that he would never have a moment alone with his fiancée. Then, when no one was looking, she took his hand and pulled him outside and into the gardens and kissed him so deeply that he was paralyzed for a moment. When he found that he could move again, he placed his hands about her tiny waist and pulled her a bit closer to him. She pulled away and rested her head on his chest and he reached up to run his fingers across the nape of her neck. "Are you having fun?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," Gustave said dryly. "I do so love being paraded by the three women I love best."

"There's three, then, are there?" she teased playfully.

"Well, there's the brunette women that bore me and, for some reason, kept me, then there's the blonde woman that her ex-husband ran off with, and _then_ there's my personal favorite. She's got blonde hair and brown puppy dog eyes and is amazingly beautiful, but I can't remember her name for the life of me."

Isabella giggled. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he murmured, pressing his face into the side of her neck. "We should probably get back in there before mother starts to worry."

"Oh, not yet. I want you to myself for the next ten minutes."

"I'm finding it difficult to argue with you. Alright—ten minutes." He looked down the sloping lawn to the front door, where many of the men had congregated outside to smoke. "Look—isn't that Joseph Pratt? Who's that with him?"

"It's not his wife, that's for sure. I think it's his mistress."

"She's got to be thirty years younger than him! And what kind of man brings his mistress to a celebration for a betrothed couple?"

"You're absolutely right—it berates the sanctity of marriage. She's very pretty, though."

"I don't think so. I think she looks like a vixen…"

They continued in this way for some time before they were joined by Jean and Zaira. He was steering her out of the house while she staggered a bit, the long, ornate Persian skirts she wore getting in the way of her tipsily moving feet. The four of them made a jolly little party and they sipped champagne as they giggled at the people down below. They had been pointing out a small group of three middle-aged men, none of whom were with their wives or mistresses, when Isabella suddenly grabbed Zaira's hand.

"Jean Dussek!" she cried. "What is this that I see on this beautiful girl's finger?"

Then the two women were squealing and cooing over the ruby and diamond platinum band on Zaira's left hand. Gustave grinned and pumped his cousin's hand enthusiastically, congratulating him on his long overdue proposal. This brought the conversation back to weddings, and Gustave tried his hardest to zone out of the discussion.

"Sometimes I wish I would have asked her to elope with me," he said dryly, as the girls began to talk about wedding dresses, dinners, and decorations. It was something Gustave had heard too much of in the past few months.

At Gustave's comment, Jean gave a low chuckle. "I can imagine," he said. "How did you tell your parents you were engaged?"

Gustave smiled slightly. "I was drunk when I told them I'd proposed and she'd said she needed time. The second time, I came home with her and it took my mother about two seconds to see the ring on her hand and she started screaming. I didn't know my mother was a screamer."

Jean took a swallow of his champagne. "I don't know what exactly to tell mine," he said. "I suppose it would be easier if she wasn't Nadir's ward. She's practically a daughter to him. When we were younger, she was almost like a sister. Then we got older. I went to France for school and I didn't see her for a few years. When I came back from Paris to work with your father, we had both grown up and she wasn't the gangly little girl from Persia anymore. She was older—a full grown woman. Beautiful. And it took me about five minutes to go head over heels for her." He smiled, a far-away look in his eyes. "And she said she fell for me all over again."

"That's what you should tell them," Gustave said. "Besides, the whole family's been placing bets on when you'd actually get around to doing it."

Jean's face went red. "I—I was waiting to—"

"Make your way in the world so you wouldn't have to rely on the family fortune, I know." Gustave smiled at his cousin. "Still, though—it's about time."

* * *

It was early morning before the last guests left to return home. Christine and Erik busied themselves carting the younger children up to their rooms. Christine took a break to feed Eve before kissing Gustave goodnight and heading to her bedroom. When she entered the room, a comical sight greeted her.

A bit tipsy, Erik had collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed, still dressed. One leg was hanging over the edge, shoes still on, and his right arm was thrown over his head. Christine smiled and sat him up as best she could. Untying his cravat, she tossed it onto a nearby chair. She pulled his arms out of his jacket and vest and laid them over the back of the chair. Unbuttoning his shirt, she looked at his face. He looked exhausted. The uncovered half of his face was a bit lined and there were bags under his eyes. After she had divested him of his shirt, she gently moved him back down. As gently as she could, she removed his shoes, stockings, pants, placed them on the chair, and shoved his legs up under the covers. Now thoroughly exhausted herself, she hung up the evening gown in the closet and stripped down to her chemise. Never in her life had she worn a dress that was so comfortable, she thought to herself as she climbed into bed. Erik had teased her over the American style of the dress, but it had flowed beautifully and been so very comfortable that Christine had not had the urge, as she often did, to leave early simply to undress and go to bed. She smiled at the closet, vowing to keep the dress and wear it as often as she could.

Climbing into bed and under the covers, Christine snuggled up to her husband and rested her head on his firm chest. Looking up, she saw that she had forgotten to remove his mask. She did so, setting it on the bedside table. Christine leaned down to kiss his red, puffy cheek and he stirred slightly. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him, and his lips rested on the top of his head. "Goodnight, my angel."

Christine yawned and leaned into him. "Time to sleep," she murmured. "I love you."

"I love you."

Then she was asleep, dreaming of a little boy with brown curls running toward her across an immense lawn and tumbling into her open arms before she barraged his face with kisses and carried him off for his long overdue afternoon nap.

_a/n_ _Up next—the wedding and more sex for all! Yay!_


	11. Chapter 11

_a/n The end is near! I love you all. Just a quick FYI, the salutes in the last chapter were, from _The Last 5 Years _(which is wonderful, listen to it if you get the chance) was a bit of dialogue geared toward the song "The Next Ten Minutes" and, for Billy Joel, a bit from the song "Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel)". Peace._

**CHAPTER 11—ONE LOVE, ONE LIFETIME**

In seventeen years, Erik had never seen his son in such a state. He wandered about the theater in the last few hours before the wedding somewhat helplessly before Erik pulled him aside and sat him down in what had been dubbed, for the day, the groom's room, which was the dressing room for the leading tenor of the opera house.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked.

Gustave flopped backward onto the sofa and blew a gust of air through his lips. "I'm scared shitless."

Erik laughed. "That's alright. I was terrified when I married your mother."

"Why?" Gustave sat up at this. His parents seldom spoke of their wedding. There were pictures of his mother in a beautiful white dress standing arm in arm with his tuxedoed father. There was even one of the three of them. Every time Gustave had asked his parents about the circumstances surrounding their wedding and why they had left France so suddenly was a mystery to him, as his father would gruffly state that it was nothing that concerned him, and his mother would force a smile and change the subject.

Erik was half tempted to tell his son the truth. The two of them had needed to return to France to have Christine's citizenship changed. A problem had occurred with this involving a wait until they could marry. As a result, they married before changing her citizenship and had had to do so in a great deal of secrecy as to keep Erik from being discovered. Today was not the day to bring up old ghosts of the past, however, and Erik merely smiled. "I was half afraid she'd run off on me."

"But she didn't."

"No." Erik leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles over each other. "She never did."

Gustave pushed himself to his feet. "I need to get dressed, don't I?"

"I suppose," Erik said, rubbing his chin. "I don't suppose any of the women would be too happy to see you get married in lounge pants."

A small smile played across Erik's lips as Gustave rose and bumbled around for a bit before removing his jacket. Rising, Erik left his son alone and went to seek out Christine. Turning a corner, he found her sitting outside Isabella's dressing room reading a novel. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Now may I say that I am old?" he asked teasingly.

She closed her book and placed it in her lap. "You may refer to yourself as old when Eve gets married. Until then, you must remain active." She winked and stood up, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you more," he murmured, kissing her cheek and stepping back to take in her appearance. She was wearing a gown of red and crème silk damask and he thought she was breathtaking. He gently touched the rubies that circled her neck. "I remember when I gave you these. But don't you think today is a…somewhat contradictory day to wear them?"

For the necklace she wore had been given to her as a gift after her miscarriage. She seldom wore them, saying that, as much as she loved them, it saddened her to think about why they had been given to her. Today, though, she wore them with a smile on her face.

"I want all of us to be here today," she said softly, taking her husband's hands. "Even Mary."

Erik swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat. "That's lovely, darling."

There was a small commotion at the opposite end of the hall and Raoul and Sonia tumbled, laughing, from a little used prop room. Sonia's cheeks were flushed and Raoul's cravat was slightly off center as they clung to each other, still giggling. Erik cleared his throat and their heads snapped toward him. Sonia gasped, delicately place a hand over her lips, but Raoul winked and whisked Sonia away toward the theater. As soon as they were out of sight and the sound of their footsteps had faded, Erik and Christine dissolved into giggles like a pair of teenagers just discovering two friends in the middle of lovers' rendezvous. The dressing room opened and Isabella poked her head out and they both stifled their laughs.

"Have you seen my parents?" she asked. She looked at them, confused, as they dissolved once again into laughter. Just then, Raoul and Sonia reappeared, straightened up but still flushed, from the corner they had disappeared around.

"Hello, darling," Raoul said, kissing his daughter's cheek. "Are you nearly ready?"

Isabella didn't move for a moment before a panicked look came over her face and she grabbed her mother's wrist, dragging her into the dressing room. As soon as the door was shut, they heard Isabella launch into a stream of rapid Italian while Sonia attempted to console her. The three of them still in the hallway were quiet for a moment, all of them thinking the same thing, before Christine let out a small snort and they all burst into hysterics again. After several more minutes, they were finally able to sober and Erik shook his head at his former rival.

"I see you are currently lacking in marital problems," he said.

"You see correctly," Raoul said. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure everything's ready to go."

As he turned to go, Christine called behind him, "Wouldn't you be so kind as to check to make sure the chandelier is secure?"

Erik grabbed her around the waist and quickly moved her to the prop room at the other end of the hall.

* * *

Gustave had seated his mother next to his father and ascended the stairs onto the stage. It had been Isabella's idea to have the wedding in the place where he had first laid eyes on her. He couldn't have agreed more, and he now stood in front of a church official as he waited for Bella to emerge through the doors at the back. He turned around to look at Jean, who was acting as best man, and received an encouraging smile. 

"Ready?" he asked.

Taking a deep breath, Gustave nodded. "If she comes."

"She will." And right on cue, the orchestra went into "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" and the doors opened.

Gustave could not breathe. She was draped all in the most delicate white lace and her face was covered by a white veil. She seemed to float down toward him, only held down to earth by the grip she had on her father's arm. Before he knew what was happening, she was next to him and her father had handed her off to him, murmuring for him to take care of his baby. Gustave heard himself swear to God that he would, and the rest passed in a rush. They recited vows to each other, promises of unending love and faithfulness. Then the official told him that the lace-covered goddess before him was his wife, and that he was her husband, and he was lifting the veil with shaking fingers to kiss tender, inviting lips.

It seemed to be only two seconds later that he was sitting at a table with his family, both sides, being toasted over and over with champagne. They danced and made fools out of themselves being so ridiculously in love and time only slowed down when he thought of how much he wanted to get in the carriage and go to the hotel they were staying at before they left the next afternoon for their honeymoon.

It was midnight before the party wound down enough for them to leave. Raoul, a bit tipsy, clasped his hand and made Gustave promise, again, to never break the heart of his only little girl. His father staggered over, laughing, to tell him to have fun, before his mother pulled him away, kissing her son's cheek and telling him how proud of him she was.

Without a backward glance, Gustave and Isabella hopped into the carriage. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Isabella attacked his face with those lips and he crushed her to him. His hands wandered restlessly up and down her body and she let out a soft moan.

Jean had already checked them into the hotel earlier in the day, so the two of them headed up the stairs and tumbled into their room. Gustave could hardly wait to get the dress off of her, but he truly needed to go to the bathroom. He excused himself, promising to hurry. When he returned, he was disappointed that he did not immediately see her but when he turned to look at the bed the breath was knocked out of his body for what felt like the millionth time that day when he saw her lounging in nothing but a silk, transparent camisole.

In a matter of two or three short minutes, he was divested of all his clothing and lying on top of his new wife, ready for everything they would give each other.

* * *

Erik collapsed onto his back for the third time that night, his wife giggling beside him. She traced her fingers over his chest, smiling. "How do you feel?" she asked. 

"Exhausted." He closed his eyes and pulled her closer to him. "I love you."

"I know," Christine said dryly. "You made that clear the second time."

"You know I last longer the second time around."

"What was your excuse for the last one?"

"An excess of stamina." He kissed her forehead. "I love you, Christine."

* * *

**Calais, France**—**August, 1904**

Things had been ridiculously quiet ever since Angelique left. The vivacious young woman had declared herself in love two years before to a dashing young man from Paris, and her wedding six months ago had been the stuff dreams were made of. The little girl who had run about the theater causing mischief was gone, replaced by a woman who now positively glowed in her fifth month of pregnancy. Now the little house by the sea was quiet, save for the seventeen year old who managed to keep her elderly father on his toes with suitor after suitor.

Today, she was out with some Scottish beau. What was his name… Butler. Gavin Butler. He was a strapping young man who worked as an architect in Paris and was eight years Eve's senior. It seemed that Eve had met him three months ago while visiting her sister, who had then been renovating her house, and had been positively smitten with him. She had gone to dinner with him to find out more about him and was surprised to find out that he was a young widower. Only twenty-five, he was raising his son, Andy, by himself. The boy's mother had died in childbirth and Gavin had been alone ever since.

He had been hesitant to court her, as he was employed by her sister, which presented Eve with something she had never had before—a challenge. She had won, of course. Since then, the young man had traveled the nearly two hundred miles every month to spend as much time as he could in Calais visiting her, leaving his son in the care of his nurse. Amazingly, Eve seemed to have been tamed by this man. She no longer had five or six hopeless young men doting about her at once. She simply seemed to ignore them, biding her time with her mother in the parlor. She was growing up so quickly that she was nearly unrecognizable.

Erik hadn't realized that he had been drowsing until he heard the buggy coming up the lane. He opened his eyes in time to see it come to a stop and Gavin hop down. He offered a hand to help Eve out, and she stepped down beside him, smiling slightly and looking a bit flushed as he kissed her fingers lovingly. She saw Erik and waved happily. "Hello, daddy!"

He smiled and waved, reaching for his cane and pushing himself to his feet. Eve rushed over to help him, but he waved her off. "I'm fine," he said. He kissed her cheek. "Did you have fun in town?"

"Yes," she said. "We went to a carnival and he won me sweets."

Erik smiled down at his youngest daughter. "Good." He reached out the hand not holding his cane to Gavin. "It's good to see you again."

"You as well, sir," the younger man said.

The door opened then, and Christine stepped out, smiling. "Hello, darling." She hugged Eve to her and smiled at Gavin. "How is Paris, Gavin?"

"Oh, you know," he said, leaning against a post. "Smokey, busy, loud. Same as always."

As Christine gave a small laugh, Eve took her hand. "Mother, can Gavin stay for dinner?"

"Of course," she said, smiling. She looked at her daughter's suitor. "You're always welcome to stay."

Gavin gave Christine a small bow. "Thank you, Madam."

After the roast had been consumed, the four of them retired to the parlor for coffee. Eve seemed a bit jumpy and Gavin kept straightening his tie. When the conversation had slowed, Gavin cleared his throat. "Count Dussek," he said slowly. "I wonder if I could interest you in a cigar."

Erik nodded. "I'd like that," he said, rising. "Let's go outside, then, shall we?"

Cigars lit, the two men stood side by side for several minutes, silently watching as the sun set behind the seemingly endless expanse of sea. Erik was jerked from his thoughts when Gavin cleared his throat. "I'd like to speak with you, sir."

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik looked at the young man. "About what?"

"I wonder, sir, what you think of me."

"I think," said Erik thoughtfully, "that you are a respectable young man. A bit disarming, but stern when you need to be. Sturdy, dependable. You have a job with a promising future. And I also think that you have a question for me."

Gavin stood a bit straighter. "Yes, sir." He cleared his throat again, a bit nervously this time. "I've been thinking a great deal the past few months. Andy's getting to that age where he wants to know why. Why is the sky blue, why are the trees green. Then one day he asked me why he doesn't have a mother like everyone else." There was a rough inhale of breath before he said, "I know I love Eve, and she knows she loves me. I haven't felt anything like this in five years, and that's a long time. I think—_we_ think—that she'd be a great mother for Andy and the perfect wife for me." The hands that were rough from years of manual labor tightened on the porch rail. "I promise I'd make her happy."

Erik blew a smoke ring into the air in front of him before he answered. "I've always seen a bit of myself in you, Gavin," he said. "You're not afraid of getting dirty, you work to make the woman you love happy, you're a good father, and you're fine with a fiddle in your hands." He smiled a bit. "I don't suppose I'd mind a bit if you married my daughter. But allow me to get one thing clear, young man. I may be old—" He tapped his cane for emphasis. "But I still know how to work a rope."

Gavin frowned. "Rope, sir?"

Erik laughed boomingly. "Let's go inside. I'm sure my wife would love to hear about all of this."

_a/n Alas, there will be an epilogue—you know me. I like them. Notice anything funny about the young Scottish man? (giggles) Mrs. Butler… that's funny…_

_a/n_ _2 I'M NOT PREGNANT! (drinks a keg)_


	12. Epilogue

_a/n Here it is, the grand finale! Thanks for coming along for the ride—I love you all!_

**EPILOGUE**

**LONDON, ENGLAND**—**1911**

The clanking across the hall was a bit annoying as the young woman sat at her piano, caressing the keys with long fingers as she eased into the music that was so familiar to her. A song, one her father sometimes sang to her mother, even now that he was so old. Even with a husband and three small children, she missed them so. She missed all her family, really. Most of them were back in France, but Gustave still toured around Europe with whatever opera his wife sang in, their five children in tow. Tristan helped Jean manage the Garnier in Paris, seeming content to be a bachelor and drive his married cousin crazy. Her sister seemed to enjoy gallivanting around Paris with her husband by night while being the perfect mother by day. Only sweet Mathieu, her dearest friend, had come to London two years ago. He was working on behalf of their parents as the patron for the London opera house. Lord knew the de Chagnys had the Paris house covered, and the Vienna house was run by Eva.

The clanking stopped and there was the sound of running water in the sink and she smiled. It was official—they were moved in. The house was clean and the carpets were new and now the plumbing was fixed. She stopped playing and rose as the plumber entered the room, wiping his hands on his work pants.

"Loo's workin' right, ma'am," he said, smiling slightly.

"Shall I pay you now then?"

"That'll be nice, ma'am, thank ya."

Gesturing the man to follow her, the woman swept back her long, dark tresses and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Reaching for her pocket book, she glanced across the room at the plumber. He looked exhausted. As she handed him the owed money for his repairs, she asked, "Would you care for some tea? Maybe a sandwich or two?"

He grinned. "That'd be great."

As she bustled around the kitchen, he made cheerful small talk. She nodded and smiled her way through it until he mentioned music.

"Tha's a nice piano you've got in there—Steinway, isn't it?"

Turning her head to look at him, she gave him a quizzical look. "Yes. You know pianos?"

"A bit," he said, sipping at his tea. "I'm an organist, myself."

Intrigued, the woman sat down across from the plumber—she couldn't quite remember his name. "You're an organist?" she said, passing him a plate of sandwiches.

"Aye." He bit into one of the sandwiches and smiled. "Doesn't pay shit, though." He took on a sheepish look as he apologized for his language.

Laughing, she said, "It's fine. And in any case, shit _does_ pay."

The plumber laughed delightedly. "You're a slapper, ain't ya?"

She smiled and sipped her tea. "In my day."

The plumber shook his head. "Ya read much?"

"I love to read."

"Ya like music, ya should read this." He reached into the small satchel he carried with him and pulled out a book.

"Where did you find this in English?"

"Bookseller down the street from my flat," he said. "'s about a genius. If ya read between the lines ya find that he's jus' like everyone else, only he don't look quite the same."

"How so?"

"Looks like death, the story goes."

Raising her eyes, she smiled slightly. "Do you think it's true?"

"Dunno. I don' think so. I never seen someone look like a walkin' skeleton. That Leroux was up his arse, tell ya that. Never know with those French, though—no offence."

"None taken." Leaning forward a bit, she put the book back on the table. "Mister… I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Webber."

"Mr. Webber, I'm going to tell you a secret. It's got some fact to it. The people were real. There really was an opera house. But Leroux heard what every other Parisian did. Within a year of everything happening, the story was already distorted. But I know the truth." And she went on to tell him the true story of what happened—the story her father had told her before she left Calais.

"So he isn' dead, then?"

"No. He's sitting on a porch somewhere with my mother, sipping red wine and watching the sun set over the ocean." She leaned back again. "But let me make myself clear, Mr. Webber. You tell anyone what I just told you, I'll kill you."

He smiled. "Can I tell it to my kids, when I have 'em? Like a bedtime story."

"Make sure they don't spread it around."

"Right, Mrs. Butler."

_a/n I know it's short, but it's an epilogue. Anyway, AWL's grandfather really was an organist and poor plumber in London, so I decided it'd be fun to have the true story be like a family story that only the Webbers know. Rock on, and once again, thanks for sticking through with me. I love you all!_


End file.
